


Novus Lupus

by TheMadSlasher



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: All Heroes Are Versatile, BAMF!everyone, Clint Needs a Hug, D/s AU, Deconstructed D/s AU, Deconstruction Fic, Dystopia, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fratboy!Thor, Fraternity Paddling, Implied Torture, Kink Discovery, Leatherman!Logan, Logan Needs A Hug, M/M, Multi, Nazi-esque Death Camps, Potentially Offensive Ideas, Spanking, Steve Needs a Hug, Switches Are Awesome, Thor Needs a Hug, Tony Needs a Hug, Versatile!Logan, implied rape, unhealthy bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadSlasher/pseuds/TheMadSlasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Captain America Kink Meme on Livejournal. </p>
<p>Steve Rogers awakes to a world which has embraced universal D/s as a law of nature, where human beings are seen as no more than another kind of pack animal; the New Wolf. Tony Stark's Avengers Initiative is the only hope Steve has to end the nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Captain America Kink Meme, Prompt can be found here: http://capkink.livejournal.com/1973.html?thread=2281397#t2281397
> 
> This piece is not attempting to argue that all fans of D/s are psychotic totalitarians and nor is it attempting to obliterate the distinction between nonconsensual BDSM and SSC BDSM. It simply is an attempt to give the requester the fic they asked for; a fic where the Avengers are rebelling against a dystopia where engaging in BDSM and participating in a rigid Dom/sub hierarchy is enforced by the State (something which even fans of consensual BDSM can agree is monstrously evil). The author is quite aware that not all kinky activities need to involve role-rigid D/s, that not all people that practice D/s are role-rigid, and that not all people that call themselves fans of D/s have the same view of what constitutes D/s. 
> 
> This fic is not attacking anyone's kinks. It is a work of fiction which deconstructs the **attitudes** of a **relatively extreme subset** of BDSMers. It is not intended to be a realistic portrayal of the real-world BDSM scene, speaking generally.

**Novus Lupus**

**ACT 1**  
 **Part 1**  
The large man sat on the concrete floor of the cell with a book in his hands. He kept tilting the pages so that the pale sliver of moonlight could illuminate the text.

_The Ordered States of North America was born out of growing realization that the Enlightenment foundations of the United States of America were flawed and hubristic ideals that ridiculously mischaracterized human nature._

_In brief, the Enlightenment project was based on the proposition that man, apart from all other known life forms, was the rational animal. As possessors of reason, we were separated from all other beings and the laws that applied to them could not apply to us. We had to use our reason to comprehend nature and our human condition, to reshape our world into something hospitable to our own interests, and to comprehend morality._

_These tasks were necessary for each individual human being. According to the Enlightenment perspective, all of us were equally human and thus equally possessors of reason. The proper social order, therefore, had to be based on universal principles which left us to come to our own conclusions; the only limit upon this was the equal right of others to do so. Thus, the concept of individual rights and the equal freedom principle were born. Both are referenced in the Declaration of Independence._

As the man kept reading, his breathing subtly grew less stable, as if he were slightly shivering. _Keep steady, soldier_ , he thought to himself as he turned the page.

_The Ordered States of North America exists due to the failure of this philosophical perspective. The meta-anthropology of the Enlightenment committed two critical errors; denial of the basic fact that we are just another kind of animal with no significant differences from other species within the animal kingdom, and denial of the fact that human beings by nature are **not** born equal._

_Any observer of human nature, from the prison yard to the schoolyard to the fraternity to the military, can point out humanity's obvious propensity to form dominance hierarchies. This trait exists in human beings just like it exists in pack animals. And the natural reinforcement mechanism of this hierarchy is sexuality._

_Anyone that has looked at any pornography can clearly see that. Sexual dominance and submission is, to paraphrase the counter-Enlightenment titan Fichte, the outer manifestation of a deep inner truth._

_And thus, the Ordered States of North America was born as a proclamation of the proper way to order society according to human nature. Man is merely Novus Lupus; the new wolf. Law is the decree of the superior, to be obeyed by the inferior. The State is the instrument of the innately Dominant, to lead the rebellious and the confused back to their anointed path of submission. And it is on the battlefield of lust that our true natures reveal themselves. Kill or be killed. Greatness or grovelling. Predator or prey. Alpha or omega._

_There is no third option._

The realization weighed more heavily on his conscience than the icy steel collar weighed around his neck.

_I've failed._

He threw the book away with the same disgusted scowl on his face he had when he hurled a copy of _Mein Kampf_ across the library.

All he did was pick up a pen the lady officer dropped. He didn't know they called it the "reflex test" until after he returned the pen with a courteous nod and a "ma'am."

The waning wedge of moonlight made a diagonal slash across his torso. He remembered the military... the orders. Having to obey without question. Having that instinctual deference hammered into his consciousness. _A necessary evil_ , he thought bitterly. _A small amount of obedience and hierarchy to stop the Nazis from instituting even more... like an innoculation_. 

He took a breath before letting his mind form the next conclusion.

_The Nazis won._

_No. I swore I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. I'm Captain America._

His inner monologue kept repeating that over and over.

He lost track of the outside world until he heard the foreboding clang of the cell's bars being opened. A dusty, muted daylight crept in through a window the size of a shoebox. The harsh clomping of jackbooted feet against concrete filled the small space.  
"Welcome to Resocialization Camp, pretty boy," sneered a leering guard.

 **Part 2**  
"Master Stark?" Pepper asked as her knuckles delicately tapped the glass door.

Tony peered up from beneath his bench. His face was smeared with grease and ash. 

"Pepper," he replied and ushered the strawberry-blond inside. He kept his gaze fixed on her, as protocol demanded. He wished she made eye contact back.

"Are you alright, Sir?" She asked as she surveyed the random wreckage strewn about the lab.

"This isn't the worst explosion I've set off down here," he replied in his typical rapid pace. 

"But you're bleeding!" she exclaimed. "Master," she added quickly.

Tony's face remained stony in spite of the trickle of blood dripping from his cheek. _C'mon Pepper, you know you're adorable when you're fussing over me... look at me, don't be scared, I'm not gonna tie you over the bench and rape you in the ass and I know you're telling yourself you should want that but c'mon, part of you doesn't want that? I'll triple your salary if you don't want that._  
"I'm fine, slave Potts." _I'd be finer if I didn't have to call you that_. 

Butterfingers handed Tony a bandage.

Pepper's PDA beeped. JARVIS simultaneously chimed.

"Sir..."  
"Oh my god... Master.."

Tony picked something off the floor and placed it back on his desk. He made sure only he could see it.  
"Yes? Just one of you please my damn ears are still ringing from the blast."

Pepper began speaking immediately. "You've been assigned!"

"Ms. Potts received the same news as I did, Sir. A new submissive shall be placed under your authority in the near future. Shall I get to work on crafting a collar?"

"In a while. You're dismissed, slave Potts."

Pepper bowed and quickly backed away. She then darted up the stairs.

_She's going off to cry, isn't she? Yeah, she's going off to cry. She's always dreamed she'd be my slave (join the club) and not just my slave-assistant._

Tony's gaze fell on the object he picked up before. It was a picture of Pepper before she was collared. _Well she got sorta-lucky with Happy and its not like she got any worse at the admin stuff afterward._ But after she was collared he noticed a change in her demeanor, as if she became ashamed of being good at her job. _Maybe I should get JARVIS to track what Happy and Pepper get up to or something. Either I save her from an abusive dom or I get to watch something better than the usual crap on TV. Win-win_. 

_If Happy's abusing her, I'm kicking him out of a plane_.

 **Part 3**  
A caucasian woman with extremely puffy bleach-blond hair and scarlet lipstick, clad in a black leather corset that highlighted her breasts in a manner reminiscent of the prow of a ship, smiled on the screen.  
"Welcome to the Six-O-Clock news, I'm Mistress Angelique Boudreaux." Her smile immediately became a condescending scowl before she continued, "the unworthy slime currently licking my boots is slave Bertram Boyle."

A small, strangled whine emerged from beneath Mistress Angelique's desk.  
"Thank you for this privilege Mistress."

"Later tonight, we cut to a live feed from the Portland Resocialization Camp, where children displaying anarchic, switchable tendencies are rehabilitated into responsible citizens by compassionate State re-education."

A picture of a female Drill Sergeant spitting in the face of a young hispanic girl with a mohawk was displayed in the upper right corner of the screen.

"Also, scientists at Los Alamos National Laboratories have recently completed a landmark study of those that go against nature and reject D/s. These dangerous anarchists all crave reciprocal, peer relationships during their youth."

The screen showed a man in a labcoat speaking. "These unfortunate individuals must have been either Dominant but treated as inferiors when children and thus resented the paradigm, or are submissives in denial of their own nature. Rest assured all our subjects will be successfully re-educated. Those that cannot be shall be humanely euthanized." 

The camera cut back to Mistress Angelique. Her face had returned to a smile. "But our top story tonight; Stark Industries CEO Master Tony Stark has been assigned a new submissive! The OSDA issued the press release to wild fanfare and speculation about who the lucky sub would be."

Mistress Angelique looked away from the camera and down below the desk.  
"Not as lucky as you, you faggot. I can't see my reflection in those boots! Worthless incompetent. Over the desk, Punishment Position Two."

For the first time that news broadcast, the face of slave Bertram Boyle appeared. His entire head and face seemed to be constructed out of oily bulbous protrusions, his skin was greasy and his hair resembled tendrils. The man's eyes were a green so washed out, they may as well have been gray. He bent over the desk and awaited the first crack of his Mistress's riding crop.

 **Part 4**  
They thought using a Military Dominant would work. They thought that by appealing to those honed instincts of obedience and identification with the group, they could break him.

The Mil-Dom called him "Soldier." _I'm not your soldier. Not for you and not for your cause._ Steve refused to do a single pushup. 

Now, the hot desert air moved against Steve's naked skin. His wrists and ankles were bound to the triangular frame.  
"Ten lashes, Soldier. It'll be easier for you if you learn your place."

Steve stood silently and awaited the lash. _I won't call that son of a bitch 'Sir.' I'd sooner take another beating._

The sounds of strangled cries and cracking whips reached a room on one of the higher levels of the camp's buildings.  
"Rogers is resisting, Commandant," said the Doctor. "The military drills have shown no effect. Perhaps a good course of action would be to send him to me for a good physical exam." The Doctor began to smile; yellowed teeth lay between his thin lips. "I've just requisitioned a one-gallon enema bag."

The Commandant looked over her shoulder at her fellow Dominant. Her cheek-length dark brown hair and nearly-black eyes contrasted against her near-albino complexion. "Maybe the solitary training is the problem. Military instincts are exacerbated by insociation; we could take him out of solitary and put him back in general population."

"It's too late," came a reply from a younger man in uniform. "Sir... Ma'am," he quickly added as he averted the gaze of the Dominants. "OSDA has assigned him already, Sir, Ma'am."

The Commandant looked at her subordinate. "Dismissed." After the subordinate left the room, she looked again at the Doctor; "we have only forty-eight hours to tame him. Worst case scenario is that his assigned Dominant has a bit more work to do. If he can't be made submissive, he'll be killed."

Back at the frame, Steve was released from his bonds and fell on the ground. Each intake of breath was ragged and torn. The sticky warmth of congealing blood clung to his back. Every single synapse in his body felt like it was being attacked by a swarm of white-hot razor blades. 

The Mil-Dom thrust the toe of his boot beneath Steve's lips.  
"Want the pain to end, pretty boy? Listen to that voice in yer head, scum.... the one telling you that you want this... that your only worth is in taking orders from your betters. Show some respect... lick the boot and tell me how much you love being a bitch."

Steve looked into the eyes of the man standing above him. He looked into those anger-filled eyes with an ice-cold gaze of defiance, a gaze untouched by any fear. _Respect. You don't know the meaning of the word._  
"No," he replied in the steadiest tone he could muster.

 **Part 5**  
"The hack worked perfectly, Sir. The OSDA's mainframe, designed by Stark Industries, apparently contained a convenient backdoor accessible only to myself. How coincidental," JARVIS intoned via Tony's earpiece. 

Tony paced around backstage. _Press conferences are always just cheap theatre for the damn gossip merchants to sell more crap... play the role and get it over with then go back home and get to work._ He removed a flask-shaped bottle of vodka from the pocket of his leather jacket and took a swig. _I hate this hat, these boots are so shiny you could pick me up on radar from Brazil, I need another drink.._ Tony took another gulp.  
"Pepper out of town?"

"Indeed Sir. Ms. Potts is currently attending our offices in Chicago and shall be there for in between three days to a week."

"So I got forty-eight hours to pull this off, fantastic. Delay her flights if necessary."

"Certainly, Sir. The pre-conference show has commenced. It would be wise to put your most intimidating Dom-face on. Would you prefer I arrange to have your vodka seasoned with a liberal amount of vinegar so as to help you get in a sufficiently disgruntled mood?"

"Shut up JARVIS."

The throng of reporters, some collared and some not, looked at the screen with a mix of feigned interest and barely-concealed annoyance.

"Master Tony Stark!" began the pre-recorded declaration. "A true American hero!"

Various slides began to flash across the screen. They were typically of pictures of Tony holding a bevy of submissives of both genders on spiked leather leashes.

"A man who's powerful mind is matched only by the power of his hand! A man who has had Hollywood A-listers paying to give him pedicures! After leaving the weapons business, Stark Industries has revolutionized the way we live countless times. Technological dominance in every field! Ladies and Gentlemen, Dominants and submissives, I give you Master Tony Stark!"

The audience sat in silence as they observed the leather-clad figure emerge from Stage Right. Stark's lips were contorted into a sneer one would expect from an animal with blood dripping from its teeth. The inventor's eyes were masked from any contact by impenetrable mirror-shades.

"Thank you all for coming," he began in a voice laced with condescension. "My property will arrive shortly. Rest assured my new property will learn the value of obedience and humility. Any questions?"

Dead silence.

_No one questions a Dom, jeez why can't I enjoy this damn press conference?!? Gimme something to work with people! Hey, tabloid chick, want me to take my jacket off so the readers can jerk off over me? Guaranteed sales._

"That will be all," he said as he quickly strode off the stage. _Never any fun, dammit_. 

"Marvelous performance Sir, I'm sure the Academy will have the statuette delivered to your lab. Speaking of deliveries, Captain Rogers is vacuum-sealed and waiting in your living room. Shall I commence the protocol for the Avengers Initiative?"

Tony barged through each clashing set of double-doors until the soles of his boots began to grind against asphalt.  
"Of course, we've been planning this thing for ages and it would make no sense if we stopped now, go for it."

 **Part 6**  
After hours of muffled sounds of metal doors slamming and engines roaring, Captain America finally heard nothing but his own breathing.  
 _Keep calm, soldier. Typical torture technique, they're trying to intimidate you and let you drive yourself mad with fear. Don't let them._

His field of vision remained black. He felt nothing but the compression of thick sheets of rubber around his body. He couldn't move his mouth but there were holes for his nostrils to breathe through.  
 _Inhale, exhale... air smells clean and sterile. Indoors then, probably. Inhale, exhale..._

Each breath he took felt like relief; _don't think about that, soldier.. it's over now. Those years with Asthma had some use; the breath control wasn't as effective as they wished._

A muffled noise. A click. Footsteps. He kept his face stony as he awaited his captor. 

Stark entered the living room, tore off the jacket and threw it on the sofa. He wore only his boots, leather jeans, leather gloves and a black tank top.  
"Okay, one cryovac to order. JARVIS, do you have the records of the resocialization?"

"Indeed Sir," JARVIS replied as Tony looked at the human form entrapped between thick black rubber sheets hanging from hooks in the roof.  
"Whilst it was only a week," JARVIS continued, "our new arrival certainly has been introduced to this society's customs with considerable vigor. Shall I list?"

"No, I'll ask him," Tony said as he moved to open the air intake valve, "is the lower vacuum compartment separate from the head compartment?"

"Yes, they followed your instructions."

Tony pulled the air intake valve free. The space above the figure's shoulders began to inflate. The distinct outline of the figure's head disappeared.

"If you think I'm going to be your slave, you're sorely mistaken!" Steve boomed.

"Sorry, can't hear you beneath the rubber," Tony lied casually. "Just let me get the sheet off, Captain."

Steve fell silent in shock. _Assignments are random, there's no way they could know me. Unless they're high up in the government and rigged the system._

Tony picked up a knife and carefully sliced around the top sheet. A flap fell away and he looked into the icy glare of Captain America himself.  
"Hey Cap," he said casually, "welcome to Malibu."

"Where's the other one?" Steve sternly replied.

"Greetings Captain Rogers," JARVIS replied. "Don't mind me, I'm not a person."

"You sound like one," Steve said with a raised eyebrow.

"That's JARVIS, he's an AI that runs the house," Tony said quickly. "Oh wait, you don't know what an AI is, think a machine with a name and that's all you really need to know. So, talk to me."

Steve kept his glare on Tony. 

Tony sighed, "relax, I'm not here to hurt you. Yeah I know, you have all the reason to think I am considering you woke up only a week ago and were shipped off to S&M Concentration Camp, but hear me out. Wanna drink?"

Steve remained silent for a second before replying. "I've been zipped up in this thing for over three hours. I'd sooner go to the bathroom, so who are you?"

"Tony Stark."

"You mean..."

"Don't mention him," Tony quickly cut him off, "yeah, that's how I knew about you. When I heard they were defrosting you I had JARVIS hack the OSDA mainframe so you'd be assigned to me."

"Let me out, please."

"Only if you promise not to try and escape."

"Only if you promise not to torture me."

"Sold," Tony quickly replied as he opened the lower compartment's air intake valve and began unzipping the large flat bag.

Steve wasted no time in stepping out. He faltered as he regained his stance on the floor. He didn't care about his body being naked.

"Well, someone's hot," Tony replied with a smirk on his face. He then raised his eyebrow when he noted the bandages on Steve's back.  
"Shit, you must suck at making friends. So, drink?"

Steve silently stared at Tony.

"What? I'm used to plying hot naked people with alcohol."

"That's probably what most concerns Captain Rogers, Sir."

Tony sighed. "JARVIS, could you get a bathrobe sent down here?"

A green light next to a wall compartment flashed. Tony strode over to it, opened the compartment, and removed the white terry bathrobe from inside. He then moved back to Steve and presented it to the taller man.

"Thank you," Steve replied as he slid the robe onto his body.

 **Part 7**  
Steve sat on the couch with a glass of iced water. He looked out the windows towards the Pacific Ocean. His neck now lay uncollared. 

Tony sat in a nearby chair with a scotch on the rocks. "You probably don't want to do the post-Resocialization-Camp victim routine so don't feel like you have to tell me anything. Want me to give you the basic rundown?"

"I read a primer," Steve replied. "The Novus Lupus movement..."

"Yeah, those guys," Tony continued, "a small number of people with a lot of money, friends in Washington and sick fetishes can really do a lot of damage. Yeah, you wanna get into lactoklismaphilia, fine, but don't go around calling it a universal law of nature and putting everyone that disagrees with you into a gulag."

"Lacto...what?"

"Milk enemas."

Steve fell silent.

"What, not into milk enemas?"

Steve looked at Tony with wide eyes.

Tony smirked, "just kidding. Anyway, you probably saw enough at the Resoc Camp to realize what kind of world you woke up in."

Steve took a breath and another sip. He drained the glass. "Yes." His gaze focused on the horizon. "How many, Tony?"

"How many what?"

"People. Killed."

"Worse than Hitler. His death camps only got up to eleven million. Knowing the administration they're shooting for Stalin-level. We're at twenty-three million now, only two-million more to go."

Steve swallowed. He remembered the stench of the Nazi Death Camps... mud, excrement, but even worse was the omnipresent linger of burning human flesh. He felt the water begin to slide around his stomach with unsettling instability. His breathing got faster and his face contorted into an expression of utter disbelief.

"Yeah I know, real terrible," Tony continued in an indifferent, staccato burst before taking another gulp, "but I wanna do something about it."

Steve looked at Tony with a resolute glance. "Go on."

"Usual sob story, never liked the D/s thing and seeing my mom's safeword get ignored put me off big time. Pretended to be a Dom to avoid being killed.. easy enough, just buy the gear and act like a douchebag and have a good press agent. Found some other people that weren't happy with the regime, so we decided to work on something."

"And you want me to be a part of it?"

"Well not from the start, you're kind of a last minute addition but yeah, the opportunity couldn't be missed." Tony then drained his glass, got up and walked over to the liquor bottles.

 _Rebellion against the government_ , Cap thought as he remembered those Germans that resisted Hitler, from Bonhoffer to von Stauffenberg. _I swore to protect the Constitution of the United States. Not to defend any State that dominated this land_. He nodded at Tony.  
"Count me in."

"Excellent, now I won't have to kill you. Anyway, question, got any idea why you aren't into D/s or were you still disoriented from being unfrozen?"

 _He isn't slurring his syllables yet..._ Cap thought as he mulled over the question.  
"I don't think I've ever thought about it before now," Steve replied. "In my time we didn't discuss these things.. even.."

Tony smirked as he watched a blush creep over Steve's cheeks.  
"What, didn't they have sex during the Depression era?"

"We just didn't talk about it... I'm sorry Tony, I can't answer that question."

Tony drained his glass again. "Got it. Anyway, you're probably hungry. Anything you like to eat?" _Please don't say apple pie._

 **Part 8**  
Steve laid on his side on the bed. The lash marks still hurt. He could barely manage half a slice of apple pie at dinner.

_Twenty three million.._

He stared almost unblinkingly at the wall. "JARVIS... how do I turn off the light? Can't see a light switch."

"Vocal Command, Captain. Shall turn them off now." 

The room went black. He laid there, his pillow wedged between his arm and his head.  
 _Twenty three million souls to avenge. Killed for not having the right tastes in bed._

Each breath he took brought keen awareness of the lines crossing his back; red-hot pulses followed the trackmarks. He didn't remember the Death Camp smell at the Resoc Camp... _maybe they ship them somewhere else before they kill them... maybe they don't burn the bodies.._ his breathing began to accelerate.

"Captain Rogers, I notice your heart rate has jumped. Perhaps a relaxant might assist you in getting to sleep?"

Steve looked around with wide-eyed shock. "How did you know?"

"I am equipped with advanced sensors, Sir. Mister Stark's health isn't the most stable and thus I routinely monitor him. I also am observing you on account of any complications that may arise from your recent incarceration."

"Oh, right. I'm okay, JARVIS. I'll sleep."

"Certainly Sir. Apologies for startling you."

He remembered the faces from the Nazi camps. He wished he didn't. _The solitary confinement probably saved me from a lot_.

He took another breath and ignored the pain. He exhaled in a slow, controlled manner, letting his lips feel every whisp of air.

 **Part 9**  
"How are you going to get my shield?" Steve asked. He sat on a stool on the other side of the bench in Tony's lab.

"Already working on it," Stark replied quickly as he accepted a wrench from Butterfingers. He began disassembling a device in front of him.

Steve watched the confident fingers deconstruct the device almost effortlessly. _Wow... that's genuine talent_ he thought. But he couldn't let that distract him.  
"Care to explain how you're working on it?"

"Friend on the inside. He suggested that you didn't grovel because of Vibranium poisoning so he's requisitioning your equipment for further study."

"Study? Where?"

Tony pointed to himself. "Take a guess, handsome. I'm the smartest guy they got, and Howard built your equipment so its Starktech property." When the name of his father crossed his lips, his tone became laced with bitterness.

JARVIS beeped. "Our first guest has arrived, Mister Stark. Garage entrance has been opened."

Steve felt a slight blush creep up his face. _I'm still in nothing but a bathrobe and Tony's taking guests..._

The blond man heard the sound of a motorcycle; not the angry rough growling of the one he remembered but rather a precise, refined noise that seemed to oscillate between a roar and a purr. When the vehicle entered the garage, Steve's eyes widened as his gaze traveled along the relentlessly streamlined surfaces of the vehicle. Curves flowed into harsh angles; the bike was principally black and chrome with some royal purple panels. The figure atop it was clad in black and purple racing gear with an inverted chevron crossing the chest and back. When the figure's face became visible after the helmet was removed, Steve saw a blond-haired, young man with a mischievous grin and a stainless steel collar around the neck.

Tony walked over to his guest. "Did you get the shield?"

The new man simply nodded and walked towards Steve with a smirk on his face.  
"Man, its Captain America himself!" He began confidently as he extended his hand, "Clint Barton. Pleasure."

Steve slowly extended his own hand, _Tony could at least give me some real clothes_ he thought, and shook firmly.  
"Call me Steve."

Tony moved up behind Barton, "where's his shield? And his costume? It isn't like I have a problem with Captain America only wearing a bathrobe but we need more firepower to carry this plan off."

Clint raised and waved his hand dismissively, "relax, Starkster. It's being delivered and should be here within an hour. No one's gonna suspect you after the media hear the cover-story."

"What cover story?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

JARVIS chimed, "the current version is that a number of terrorists including a rogue government agent, specifically Mister Barton, and also Mister Stark's defiant slave Steve Rogers, break into Starktech and steal certain valuable weapons systems."

Tony nodded and continued, "I can't fund this if I blow up the business. Revolutions aren't cheap so I'm gonna have to keep my identity secret. Having you here," he pointed to Steve, "gives the terrorists an insider with opportunity and motive, making the breakin more plausible."

Clint smirked, "so, how's my new bow coming along?"

Tony arrogantly strode over to a wall panel and pressed a button. The panel revolved; attached to the other side was a collapsible composite bow, a quiver of arrows, a bottle of 1998 Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes.  
"Presented for your approval," he grinned smugly as the glass slid away and Clint moved forward, "the Hawkeye Mark Three. Celebration included free of charge."

Tony then glanced across at Steve. "JARVIS, we'll need another flute!" he called out.

 **Part 10**  
An hour later, Steve strode around his upstairs bedroom and slid into his old costume. He took a deep breath as he felt the material begin to encapsulate his body, not with the almost sticky compression of the rubber but rather a feeling of reinforcement. His stride became more confident after he slid the familiar red boots on. As he slid the winged hood over his head he felt that sensation of reinforcement become something he knew his childhood Church would condemn as "pride." He looked in the mirror; _Captain America... the embodiment of a now-rejected, but still heroic and noble ideal_. 

A few seconds later he walked down the stairs. He heard Clint and Tony rambling to each other, a new champagne bottle popping open, and laughter. He turned around and faced both men.

Clint now had no collar around his neck, except for the mandarin collar of his jacket. He looked at Cap with a raised eyebrow for about half a second. Then he burst out into hysterical laughter.  
"Oh fuck! It really did have wings on the head!! Man, that's just fucking hysterical!!!"

Steve paused for a second and took a breath. The military instincts wanted him to grab Clint by the neck and demand more respect.. _No... I didn't fight for that._  
"This design represents years of fine art school, Barton," he began steadily.

Clint kept laughing.

Tony looked at Steve wryly. "Cap, its the future. Well for you it is, and everyone wears fetish gear in the future." He took another swig of Dom Perignon and stood up; he was still clad in the same leathers-and-tank-top from yesterday. He picked up a full flute and handed it to Steve.  
"Is your shield still operational?" 

Steve nodded and tentatively accepted the flute. _Already had one glass..._

"We can get you a new costume if you like. Maybe Clint won't laugh as much if you get an update."

Clint's laughter had began to subside as he took a sip from his flute. "Can't make promises, Steve," he continued with a wink and a smirk.

"I'll... think about it, Tony," he replied as he looked down at the star on his expansive chest. _You're being sentimental, soldier_. He slid the hood off his head and sat down on the couch. 

Tony drained his glass in one final long gulp. Then he turned to Clint.  
"Think she knows?"

Clint scoffed and shook his head. "Bitch is too full of herself. Thinks her 'natural power' makes her irresistible to me or something. She probably thinks I'll be back in a week with a bunch of roses in my hand and a dildo in my ass begging for her forgiveness."

Steve had a puzzled look on his face.

"Oh wait, you're still new," Clint said to the elder blond, "Natasha, my now ex-mistress. Psycho bitch. Great hair, tits and ass but that's about it."

Steve nodded. "So you were assigned to her?"

Clint's tone didn't change but he looked away as he spoke, "yeah, and it was either obey her or go directly to gulag, don't pass go, do collect two hundred lashes." 

Steve looked at Tony again. "Are we going to get onto the plan or are we going to just sit around drinking all the time?"

"I pick the second option," Clint replied with a grin.

"Relax, Steve," Tony smoothly responded, "everything is under control. As long as I can keep Pepper in the dark, we'll get the team assembled and go from there."

 **Part 11**  
 _Ohshitohshitohshit_ Tony thought as he watched the feed on his living room television. He could practically hear the "Jaws" theme playing in his head as the familiar Strawberry-Blond head of slave Pepper Potts moved ever closer toward the front door of his Malibu mansion.

"Ms. Potts is projected to arrive in two minutes, Mister Stark. Agent Barton is hiding himself and his possessions in the laboratory. Captain Rogers is...."

"That's it!" Tony instantly exclaimed. "Hey, Steve, get down here right now! Don't get dressed! JARVIS, get the sawhorse up here!"

"Yes Mister Stark. T-minus one minute and twenty seven seconds." The wall cabinet beeped. Tony opened it and dragged the padded sawhorse out into the living room. 

Steve strode down the stairs quickly. "What is it, Tony?"

 _Alright, this is totally worth the panic_ the inventor immediately thought as he caught sight of Steve Rogers clad in only a snug jockstrap. The morning light rolled through the window like an ocean wave and crashed against each muscle that built Rogers' body. _Score!_  
"Perfect! Alright, get over here" he rapidly said as he walked over to the larger man and began tugging at his arm. 

"T-Minus fifty-three seconds, Mister Stark."

Steve followed as he was led over to the sawhorse.  
"What's that?"

"It's on loan from a friend," Tony quickly replied. "Across the sides or front-to-back? Yeah, front-to-back, easier on your back," he immediately continued and pushed Steve toward the padded bench.  
"Lay across the top, grip the front legs."

Steve paused and looked suspiciously at Tony.

"Look," Tony hurriedly continued as he made a frustrated sigh, "just putting on a show for Pepper. Keeping her distracted. JARVIS, get some basic equipment set up!"

Several wall panels flipped over, revealing a fearsome array of whips, straps (some with split ends), paddles with holes drilled in them, canes and a whole variety of other things Steve couldn't immediately identify. His eyes immediately went wide.

"I promise I'll go easy on you. Really!" Tony's tone became filled with panic-laced sincerity.

 _Can't be worse than Resoc Camp_ Steve thought begrudgingly as he lay lengthways over the sawhorse. The padding felt smooth and soft as his fingers gripped the front legs with bone white knuckles. 

"Twenty seconds, Sir."

 _Ohshitohshitohshit.... on the bright side, can't think of a better ass to spank_ he thought as he took another glance at the milky-white bubble-shaped glutes framed by the straps of the jock.

"Fifteen seconds," JARVIS chimed.

Fifteen seconds later, Pepper Potts opened Tony Stark's front door, only to have her ears assaulted with the sound of sickening cracks.

"Yeah, you fucking scum, lying there and taking it like the obedient little bitch you're destined to be, pathetic submissive cocksucking maggot..." Tony looked over to the door and his tone of voice instantly changed from a hateful gravel to his typical energetic cadence, "oh, hey Pepper!"

Ms. Potts felt half her blood supply rush to her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hand as she observed the scene before her. Tony had been spanking the ass of an extraordinarily well-built white male; the man's head was covered in a black leather hood and the man's ass glowed a pinkish red. Tony held a wide brown razor strop in his hand.

"Master Stark! I'm sorry! Sorry for interrupting you when training your slave! I'm..."

"Nothing to apologize for, slave Potts."

"Has everything been okay?" she asked with her usual wide-eyed concern.

"Haven't lost an eye or a limb and I haven't contracted any contagious illnesses so yeah I think I'm alright."

A few more loud snaps rang out in the room as Tony brought down the tough leather on Steve's ass. "You like it don't you? Being punished? Bet you're dripping precum in your jockstrap now you worthless whore."

"I'll leave and put the papers on your lab table.."

"NO!!!" Tony yelled in a panic; almost jumping toward Pepper. He then took a breath and paused, "just give them to me here. Oh.. yeah, I'm hungry. Could you go to Carl's Jr and get me a cheeseburger? The double bacon cheeseburger... and the teriyaki turkey burger... but hold the tomato. Can't stand raw tomato."

Pepper paused for a second; her breathing sped up as she held the folder tightly. But her grip then slackened and she placed the folder on the sidetable next to the front door.  
"Yes Sir. Will be back with that. And if you need anything..."

"I'll call. Thank you slave Potts."

Pepper quickly left and closed the door behind her.

Tony immediately dropped the razor strop and ran over to Steve.  
"I'm sorry... I'm so fucking sorry Steve," he said quickly as he pulled the hood off the blond man's head. "I had to keep her in the dark and she knew I got assigned and bondage takes longer to rig so I had to spank you and it was easier than the shit you've been through. I'll get you anything I want for dinner, even more apple pie."

Rogers stood up and looked the inventor squarely in the eye.  
"Calm down, Tony. I'm fine... compared to the lashes, that was nothing. I could tell you weren't using much force anyway."

Tony backed away slightly from the Super-Soldier before taking a breath. "Yeah. Good thing about your butt being so pale is that it goes red easy; makes things look harsher than they are. The multiple layers of the strop means it makes a lot of noise relative to the force used so the bark is often worse than the bite. Least with Pepper out we've bought ourselves some time... I'll get JARVIS working on sending her and Happy on a long vacation or something."

Tony's eyes remained downcast. 

Steve placed his own hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "Don't worry, Tony... you did what you had to do. I won't hold it against you."

 **Part 12**  
Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he lay back on the bed. His hand reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the bottle of scotch standing there conveniently. He drew the bottle to his lips, opened the cap and took a swig.

"Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan boarded the flight two hours ago, Mister Stark. Assuming all goes to plan, they shall be on their vacation for three weeks."

"Out of my hair, good. Notify me if Happy gets too stay-in-the-kitchen-naked-and-on-your-knees with her. Lights out JARVIS."

The lights in Tony Stark's bedroom faded.

Down the hall, Clint Barton lay on his bed, still clad in his black-and-purple motorcycle leathers. _I could get used to this. Far better than the floor or a cage_ , he thought to himself with a slight clench of his jaw. 

The archer stood up and walked over to the mirror; beneath his jacket was a leather vest with the same black base and purple inverted chevron on his chest. He looked away from the mirror before removing the jacket. 

His downcast eyes easily glimpsed his arms; the limbs were constructed from tough and wiry musculature resembling spun steel cabling. That wasn't what bothered him; as he looked closer he saw the marks on his skin. They looked like enlarged pores, hundreds upon hundreds of them... he remembered screaming into the gag as the cold steel slipped under his skin...  
 _Keep cool, Barton. The bitch won't get you back. Worst comes to worst, you always got the cyanide_.

Back in Tony's room, the inventor's form stirred atop the mattress. His closed eyes fluttered about as the familiar images replayed themselves.

_The bomb. The surgery. "Build the missile, Stark, or every detail about those trips to Amsterdam gets sent to the OSNA government...." The scrambling around the filthy cave. Hammering together scraps of torn-apart devices... "Don't try our patience... we know what you like is a capital crime." The explosions. The bodies. The dust. The heat._

**End of Act 1**


	2. Act 2

**ACT 2**  
 **Part 13**  
An enthusiastic bellow echoed through the Malibu house.  
"I hath the mead!!!"

A tall man stood at the open door with a duffel bag and two kegs slung over his broad shoulders. His immense muscles bulged as he casually strode inside. His towering frame measured six feet and three inches tall; his hair was a slightly-reddish blond that came down to his thickly-bewhiskered chin. He wore blue jeans, tan hiking boots, and a tight gray t-shirt with three blue runes printed horizontally across the chest.

As the front door closed behind him, he placed the kegs of honey-wine down on the floor.  
"Greetings, Mister Odinson."

"Hail, JARVIS!" he replied as he walked into Tony's living room. At that moment he got a sight of the flexible archer lying on the couch.  
"Brother Clinton!" he exclaimed with his warm grin only growing larger. Without thinking, the longhaired man dashed over to the shorter man; Thor wrapped his arms around Hawkeye, picked the man up off the couch and held him tightly.

Clint grimaced and grunted at the feel of his arms pinned to his sides.  
"Hey Thor!" he replied with a strained voice, "gotta breathe, man."

"Right," Thor quickly said as he lowered Hawkeye's feet to the floor and slackened his grip.

"Thanks," Clint continued through a gasp as he looked up at the taller man. He smirked, "nice to see you too. So... mead?"

The Asgardian would have turned towards the kegs if he didn't hear someone descending the stairs. He looked and saw a slightly shorter, short-haired blond man of marginally smaller build to his own. 

"Who are you?" Steve asked in a harsher tone than usual. He still wore only a white bathrobe.

Thor's own blue eyes moved over the Super Soldier, sizing up the man, but not as if he were sizing up a hostile. The Asgardian's smirk softened into something more affectionate as he strode towards the other man.  
"Captain Rogers," he began in a softer than usual tone, "I have heard many great stories about you." His meaty hand clapped over Steve's left shoulder.

**Part 14**  
"Brother Antony!" the Norseman boomed as he saw the familiar black-haired man climb the stairs from the lab. He stood up and took a tall glass of mead over to the inventor.

"Hey big guy!" Stark replied with a smile as he accepted the glass. Cap (still in bathrobe) and Hawkeye (in the usual omnipresent motorcycle leathers) sat on the couch with glasses in their hands. He felt Thor's large arm move around his back and direct him towards the couch.

"Join us, friend. I'm truly honored to be meeting the good Captain and hearing of his valor!"

"Speaking of the good Captain," Tony continued after making eye contact with the man, "wanna get outta that bathrobe?"

Clint snickered as he watched a blush creep up Steve's neck.

Tony rolled his eyes, "not THAT way. Well, not yet at least," he quickly added, "JARVIS, is the gear behind the panel?"

"Indeed Sir. Shall I do the honors?"

"Go for it," Tony replied as Thor sat on the couch next to Steve and Clint.

Captain Rogers saw the wall panel spin around. The glass and metal cabinet held his shield and a new outfit; a royal blue T-shirt with a white star in the center of the chest, a black leather biker jacket with silver zips and buckles and US flags sewn to the upper biceps, black leather gloves, gray-and-white urban camouflage pants, a black leather belt with a US flag buckle, and black leather lace-up combat boots that reached the knee. Steve's gaze analyzed how the light gleamed off the bootleather, diffused into a shimmering haze.

"I think he likes it," Tony said with a filthy smirk on his face. 

Steve smiled and nodded. "I do. Thank you Tony."

"Aye," Thor commenced, "'tis a most heroic image!"

Clint nodded, "I'm mostly straight and even I find it hot!"

**Part 15**  
He was relieved that Tony let him examine the entire outfit in his room privately. He could already hear Clint's hysterical reaction to the piece he held in his hand.

The waist strap was white, but the pouch was the familiar blue covered in white stars. And the straps which attached the pouch back up to the waist strap were red.  
 _The Star-Spangled Jockstrap. This is supposed to be my underwear_. His face was nearly as red as the rear straps.

In spite of that, he slid the jockstrap onto his naked body. The shirt came next, although it felt a little tight ( _knowing Tony, that's a feature and not a bug_ ). The urban camouflage pants and belt followed. The jacket slid over his shoulders and the familiar feeling of empowerment returned. His heartrate increased slightly as he looked into the mirror and saw that ideal become progressively more real as the outfit encompassed more of his form. 

He pulled the tall combat boots over his socked feet and tucked the urban-camo pant legs down into the shaft. His gloved fingers grabbed ahold of the laces and started to tie the boot tightly. With each tug on the laces he felt the limb become strengthened with the leather's reinforcement. _I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees_ he mentally recited as he looked in the mirror at himself; he didn't care if his childhood church considered it sinful that in his reflection he saw a godlike figure, a strong and powerful and worthy being that would never grovel. 

He stood at his full height and looked over the image again. The light from the window moved over his boots. He remembered the Mil-Dom at the Resoc Camp and gritted his teeth. _I'd never lick the boots of him or anyone like him... he doesn't know the meaning of 'respect'_. Yet the man standing in the mirror... _a different story_ , Cap thought as he felt his mouth go dry.

A few seconds later he picked up his shield and left the room. The familiar weight at his right arm felt comforting as he descended the stairs. Over on the couch, Thor, Clint and Tony were still guzzling mead.

"Ahh, Steven! You've returned! I shall refill your glass!" Thor declared.

Clint and Tony's eyes wandered over his body. Tony wolf-whistled. Clint flashed a thumbs up.

**Part 16**  
Thor stumbled into his bedroom with his bag over his shoulder. His face flushed red and his grin didn't fade as he threw the bag on the bed. 

_I shall buy more of that mead_ , he thought as he opened the duffel bag. At the base of it, beneath the clothes, were two objects wrapped in bubble wrap. He picked up the first; the hefty weight and familiar shape soothed the Norseman. _Mjolnir, old friend_.

He took a glance out the window and observed the glittering spread of stars above the sea. He turned his face away from the window. _At least you remained loyal to me_. He remembered the faces, the sneers, the tyrant on the throne that stripped him of his armor and would have stripped him of Mjolnir if it weren't for some convenient sabotage of the enchantment. Only one person Thor knew of could possibly do that; _what I would give to see you again, Brother_.

Thor looked back into the bag and picked up the second object; it was long and rectangular with a handle at one of the narrow ends. He didn't unwrap it before he opened the closet. He smiled when he saw the familiar four-legged padded wooden sawhorse sitting there. _I knew you were a trustworthy man, Antony_. The rectangular object was leaned against the wall of the closet, beside the sawhorse.

Odinson closed the cabinet and moved back to his bed. All the mead had made his stride less sure than usual. He fell back onto the soft mattress and began to pull the tight gray shirt off his body.  
 _Thank the Norns that Lady Jane Foster found me before this land's government did. They'd have probably given me title over her_. He couldn't deny that Jane had been the only woman other than Lady Sif he had felt attracted to, but the way she averted his gaze and apologized for every single thing took her off that short list. _She's always more beautiful when she's working with those charts_ , he thought as he remembered how her work simply melted away under her skill, the confidence that sparkled in her eyes as she scrawled out equations like a sorcerer spouted incantations. _A competence that nearly made me blind to the collar encircling her neck_.

**Part 17**  
 _Another day, another hangover_ , Tony thought as he splashed his face with cold water and swallowed some painkillers before gingerly descending the stairs. _Eggs Benedict. Double size serving. Generous with the hollondaise. And coffee... lots of coffee_ he thought as he walked into his kitchen.

Only to have his ears assaulted with what sounded like a jackhammer to the skull.

"Brother!!!" Thor boomed before he took a long inhale of the air above the toaster. The box of double chocolate poptarts sat beside the appliance.

Tony raised his hand, cringed and clamped his eyes shut. "Keep it down, Thor... feeling like shit today," he croaked.

"Oh." Thor responded in a subdued and deflated tone as he looked back towards the toaster. "Apologies, friend."

"JARVIS, usual morning-after thanks."

"Yes Mister Stark," JARVIS replied. Whirring noises emerged from the cabinetry around the kitchen. "Agent Barton is still asleep, and Captain Rogers is performing calisthenics in the basement. Perhaps you'd like for the camera feed to be directed to the big screen in the living room?"

"Not now. Thor?" He asked, raising his eyebrow in the Asgardian's direction.

The blond smiled, "I would welcome the opportunity but would prefer the good Captain to grant me that privilege himself. I must decline, JARVIS."

Tony picked up a now-steaming mug of coffee. "Last arrival should be today. Then we can actually do something. This place is becoming like an improv frathouse." He took a sip of his coffee, "no offense big guy."

"None taken," Thor replied with a sly smile. 

**Part 18**  
Steve stood on the balcony, leaning upon the guardrail as he took in further breaths of sea air. The salt on his tongue tasted harsher than usual; only ten minutes ago he had just gotten out of the shower and put his new outfit on. 

He felt a hand impact his back and was suddenly thankful the lash marks had mostly healed. He turned around to see Clint's mischievous smile and feel the shorter man shove a cold glass into his hand.

"Steve."

"Clint." He looked at the dark amber of the liquid inside the glass. "Can't seem to get away from liquor around here."

"Hair of the dog, Steve. Besides, Tony's place means free top shelf everything." Clint held up his own glass and tilted it towards Steve's.

Rogers reciprocated. The glasses refracted the sunlight and they chimed with a pleasant harmonic 'clink.' _No hangover, but might as well_ he thought as he took a sip. The sweet smoke trickled down his throat and left a warm glow in its wake.  
"Thank you."

"Don't mention it buddy," Clint responded. 

"I don't want to pry... but you aren't exactly deferential. How did they mistake you for a submissive?"

"Simple," Clint immediately replied. "If you don't bully others, you're a sub. Fight back against the bullies, and that just means you secretly wanna be broken and are in denial of it." Bitterness crept into the archer's tone with each successive syllable.

_Sick excuse for logic_ he thought as he remembered his own multitude of bullies. He looked again into Clint's eyes. "They used something heroic about you as a weapon against you," he said.

Clint's smirk became a smile with a touch of eagerness. "Heroic? You think so?"

The Captain responded with a nod. "Novus Lupus says we're wolves. In this world, it takes a hero to act like a man."

**Part 19**  
Hawkeye peered off the edge of the balcony and towards the horizon. The setting sun cast ribbons of rich orange-bronze atop the surface of the water. His eye gazed down the shaft of the arrow; his right arm was fully drawn. The wash of the wind and lapping of the waves drowned out the creaks made by the bow.  
"Good luck, Thor."

Thor stood next to the archer, Mjolnir in hand. "I appreciate the good wishes, Brother Clinton. But I need no luck." He smirked.

"Aaand... fetch!" Clint exclaimed as he released the arrow.

Thor immediately took flight. Wind whipped around his body as he felt Mjolnir drag him forth at ever-increasing speeds. The black arrowshaft emerged in his field of vision and he willed Mjolnir onwards; the roar in his ears only intensified. He extended his free arm and in a quick motion, snatched the arrow from the air.

Clint smiled as he watched the Asgardian loop upwards and begin to return to Tony's balcony. A few seconds later he felt the Norseman politely place the arrow back in his hand. Clint slid it back into his quiver.

Thor raised his hand. Clint obliged with the high-five; their hands gripped each other comradely. Both men smiled at each other.

"Nice catch, Thunderer."

"Skilled shot, Brother." 

"I should get down to the lab... Tony's probably working on some new trick arrows. You know where to find me."

"Aye," Thor replied as he turned back towards the sea. 

**Part 20**  
Clint walked through the glass door to Tony's lab. Stark stood behind the bench, making upgrades and alterations to various components the archer couldn't identify.

"Trick arrows that way," the inventor pointed to the far side of the bench behind him.  
"JARVIS," he continued without taking a breath, "get Steve down here."  
"No problem Mister Stark."

Twenty three seconds later, Captain America opened the glass door and strode inside.  
"Wanted to see me Tony?"

"Yeah," Tony continued as he picked up something from behind the bench; the familiar shield. "I've modified it slightly, now when you throw it, it should return faster. Also," he picked up a few flat gray rectangular objects, "this is some armor-plating. Monomolecular kevlar fibres plus a whole lot of other crap I shoved into the mix. Should stop or slow most bullets, fits into the various inner pockets of your jacket."

"Thank you," Cap replied with a nod, "your technology is amazing, but how are you going to fight alongside us yourself?"

Across the room, Clint chuckled as he picked up one of the new trick arrows.

"Just something I whipped up a few years back. Don't worry you'll love it," Tony continued in a rapid pace with a big smirk. 

Suddenly, Steve heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle. Unlike the precise, refined humming of Clint's bike, this sound was the familiar growl Steve remembered; a filthy roar that guiltlessly proclaimed its presence. 

Clint instantly grinned. "What took him so long?"

The bike entered the garage; the Harley was jet black and chrome. Atop it sat a short, stout figure in classic black motorcycle gear. The figure's hair was an unruly black tangle. The figure parked his bike, and stood up, only to be immediately approached and hugged by the archer.

"Hey buddy!"  
"Clint," the figure replied in a rough, warm gravel as he returned the hug. 

After Clint released him from the embrace, the figure moved towards Steve and Tony. "Tony," he politely said with a wave, but his cobalt gaze remained fixed on Steve.

"Logan," Tony replied, "this is our new firepower, Steve Rogers."

"That's some high-grade firepower... _real_ high-grade," Logan replied as his eyes continued to move up and down the super soldier's body. His smirking mouth and filthy tone left no question in Steve's mind about whether or not he was assessing combat-worthiness.

Clint chuckled from across the room, "I think he likes you, Cap!"

Steve felt a blush begin to creep up his cheeks, but his eyes remained locked on the shorter man's and he offered his hand forward.  
"Pleasure to meet you, Logan."

Logan clasped Captain America's hand firmly and shook. 

"I'll go upstairs and get the party ready," Clint said enthusiastically before leaving the lab and bounding up the stairs. "Hey Thor, Logan's back!" he called.

"Another welcome party?" Steve asked the inventor. "We had one when I arrived, when Clint arrived and when Thor arrived. How are these productive?"

"They're good team bonding," Tony fired back without even the slightest hint of irony. "Alright, party's waiting. You two play nice with each other."

**Part 21**  
A few hours later, Thor was sitting on the couch with a flushed face; the Norseman had his left arm across Tony's shoulders and his right arm around Clint. Before them were several pizza boxes. His booming laughs echoed through the mansion. 

Logan sat next to Clint and munched through a slice. He looked at the archer's own slice as it rapidly disappeared.  
"Good pizza, huh?" he said with a smirk.

"Hell yeah!" Barton replied enthusiastically. "Feels good to eat with my hands.. or at least not off the floor," he added. Only the mutant could hear the bitterness creep into the inflections. 

An angry growl began to well up Logan's throat but he held it down. His free arm moved towards the table and picked up one of the many bottles of beer sitting near the pizza boxes. He took a swig.

"I'm curious, Logan," came Steve's voice. The super soldier sat at the other end of the couch, next to Tony; a bottle of cola sat in his hand. "How did you come to be involved in this?"

"That's a story fer another time," Logan quickly replied back as he averted Rogers' gaze and picked up another slice. He felt Clint's hand move across his back comfortingly; _thanks Arrowhead_ he thought.

"Why not sit more closely amongst us, Steven?" Thor asked in a magnanimous tone. "Surely, you are part of this endeavor as much as we are! Would Antony be willing to trade places with you?"

"You know big guy there are many more subtle ways to get someone to sit close to you so you can put the moves on them," Tony replied nonchalantly as he finished his slice and picked up his glass of whiskey. He motioned toward Steve.

Steve blushed slightly and slid across the couch towards the Asgardian. 

"Tony Stark talking about subtle ways to get people into bed?!?" Clint snarked back. He then turned to Logan, "was he subtle with you, Canucklehead?"

The feral let out a slow, filthy chuckle as a depraved leer spread across his face. "Not countin' Steve, no one's been subtle with anyone else in this room."

Steve felt his face go red and his heartbeat accelerate as the wildman's cobalt gazed remained fixed on him. He gulped as he heard the mutant's subterranean growl continue;

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Part 22**  
Several hours later, Clint's arms were wrapped around Thor and Logan's steady bodies. All three men moved carefully up the stairs before turning into the hallway. Steve had crashed an hour before, and Tony stayed downstairs with the final inch in the bottom of the bottle.

"Easy, Arrowhead," Logan said to the unstable figure next to him.

"Don't have a healing factor... not Asgardian or a super-soldier either..." Clint began; his half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and slurred syllables said everything. "An' Tony's gotta tolerance usually found only in Irish dockworkers... can't blame me for getting so wasted.."

"Blame?" Thor remarked with an affectionate smirk. "'Tis unthinkable to abstain during a feast!"

The trio moved down the corridor with deliberate, yet swaying steps. When they reached Clint's door, the archer opened it before turning around and looking at the elder two men.  
"Thanks guys. You're the greatest."

"See ya tomorrow Barton," Logan responded. The Canadian gave the younger man's shoulder another pat before he watched Clint turn around and stumble towards the bed. He then quietly closed the archer's door.

Thor and Logan continued further down the hall to their own rooms. The blond man had his own arm over the short man's shoulder. "'Tis good to have you back, brother."

"Thanks," the Canadian said with a nod. "Heard anythin'? Y'know, from Asgard?"

"Nay," Thor replied in a tone drained of enthusiasm. "Asgard remains silent to me." 

Logan's hand moved over the larger man's back. "Silences get broken," the Canadian replied softly as he opened his own door.

"Aye," Thor responded as he removed his arm from the black-haired man's thick shoulders. "May your sleep fare well, Brother Logan."

The feral entered his room again and gave the blond a final nod before closing his door.  
 _Sleep. That's always tha tricky part._

_....._

_"Today, we make history," proclaimed the project director. He paced around the room with quick steps, occasionally casting his glance towards the thrashing creature bound against the metal table._

_"The Novus Lupus movement was shocked by the discovery of the genetically anomalous amongst humans. Their deviant nature threatened to undermine our vision of humanity. But today, with the final stage of the project, we prove once and for all the truth that mutants are merely a kind of human being and man is merely the New Wolf!"_

_The observers atop the catwalk mostly remained silent, but a few gave short, polite claps._

_"This subject," the director pointed at the snarling, stocky creature, "a genetically anomalous human male plucked from a resocialization camp. The reflex test coded him as dominant, yet he refused his assigned submissive. The submissive confessed under interrogation that the subject was in denial of his nature and claimed to want someone that was his peer."_

_The observers all remained silent._

_"Apparently, the genetically anomalous are no less likely to run from the truth. Today, the truth becomes undeniable. Before the founding of Novus Lupus, the United States created a super-soldier to embody its principles. Today, we do the same. We immortalize our principles not in words but in Adamantium. We initiate the Procedure, and we unleash the animal that lives within us all!"_

_And then the subject felt the table begin to descend; the water began to rise around him. His jaw clenched around the breathing apparatus._

_Seconds later, he felt the needles._

Logan's eyes opened; his breaths came in ragged gasps. The sheets were soaked in cold sweat and tangled around his limbs. He steadied the rise and fall of his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

**Part 23**  
The next morning, both Tony and Clint were sitting at the breakfast table. Two alka-seltzers were fizzing away in Tony's morning Screwdriver and the inventor sluggishly turned the pages of the business section. _Bunch of idiots make a stupid decision here, some investors gamble billions on something I'm gonna render obsolete within the next month here, government finds some company's CEO was a switch instead of a dom and dragged him off to the gas chambers there... nothing new_.

Clint had a sausage between his thumb and forefinger. He dipped the end of it into the hollondaise that smothered his eggs benedict. An icepack rested on his head. _Even lifting this is an effort..._

Neither of them said anything to each other.

Both of them heard the distinctively clunky footsteps of the wildman. None of them reacted when Logan entered the kitchen.

The feral moved towards the refrigerator and tugged at the door. It didn't open.

"Mister Stark has made the refrigerator off-limits unless you refrain from drinking out of the carton, Mister Logan." JARVIS' voice was set at a lower volume than usual.

The Canadian made a low, dangerous growl and shot a glare towards the inventor. The inventor didn't even look up from the business section as Logan trudged over to the glasswear cabinet. After picking a large tumbler he moved back to the fridge and jerked the door open. The frosty mist and harsh white light spilled over him as he grabbed the milk carton and poured the contents into his tumbler. After closing the door, the Canadian grumbled and left the kitchen.

"You think he's grumpy now," Clint said with a small smirk, "you should see him when he gets cock-blocked."

"Well I'm glad that no one gets cock-blocked in my house," he responded quickly, with a small but wry smile. 

**Part 24**  
Later that day, Tony stood behind his workshop bench. His fingers moved over the arrowhead; the seams between the curved metal plates could hardly be spotted.  
 _Not like they'll have time to look, and when the payload hits 'em they won't be conscious for a week... Clint's gonna love these_. 

But every few minutes or so he placed the arrow down on the bench and raised his glance to the show on the other side of the room. He didn't even try to conceal the licking of his lips as he watched; muscles bulged and flexed, droplets of sweat slid down through the ridges and valleys of the man's _perfect_ body. _And JARVIS is recording this in super-hi-def. I'm a total genius_.

Steve stood up and began to walk towards the exit. "Thanks for letting me do my workout here, Tony."

"Finished already?" Stark replied with an exaggerated disappointed pout that quickly turned into a smirk.

Steve just nodded back. "Sorry if I interrupted your work or made it hard for you to concentrate."

"You did the latter not the former and you have nothing to apologize for," the inventor fired back without taking a breath. _C'mon, ten more crunches, show the audience some love!_

Steve opened the glass door and began to ascend the stairs.

Back in the workshop, Tony heard JARVIS' voice. "Shall I replay the footage for you, Sir?"

"Maybe later. Could you put 'Fuck Steve's Brains Out' on my To Do List?"

"Immediately, Sir. The new entry has been placed alongside 'Meeting with Obie on the Fifth of August,' 'Find Out if the Hot Chick in Legal is Secretly a Switch' and 'Overthrow the Government.'"

"Thanks JARVIS. See if you can reschedule the thing with Obie; it's the least important matter there."

**Part 25**  
"Okay people, we've been sitting around and playing make-new-friends for a while so let's get down to business. This revolution needs a plan and of course I have one."

Tony stood behind his workshop bench. A holographic projector sat alongside him. Thor, Logan, Steve and Clint stood around the inventor; Clint and Logan casually leaned against the wall, Steve was nearly standing at attention, and Thor grinned with excitement while listening to his words.

"About three hours out of LA depending on the traffic there's a Resoc Camp. We're going to liberate it."

He pressed a button; the hologram displayed government records. "Problem one is simple; if I'm funding this revolution I can't be known. My equipment conceals my identity but Clint and Steve are public knowledge. NL think Steve's my slave. We need a cover story."

The hologram changed again to footage of Stark Industries. "JARVIS will falsify footage and security records of a breakin at Stark Industries. This will explain how you guys got all that awesome sexy Starktech equipment; Steve didn't wanna be my bitch so he joined a terrorist group and raided his Master's business using security codes he obtained when he was in my service."

The projector cycled to another image.  
"About ten minutes after the break in apparently takes place, we get to the Resoc Camp."

Tony then looked directly at Steve. "You've got more relevant experience than any of us Cap, so you're field leader. But this camp isn't just any garden-variety Auschwitz; this is the most cutting-edge death camp around."  
"In the tri-state area at least," the inventor quickly added. "But seriously, Treblinka's got nothing on this place."

Steve held back a shudder as he listened to Tony. He didn't understand half the technobabble, but that usually wasn't directed to his part in the plan. Across the room, Clint and Thor and Logan seemed enthralled, although he noticed Thor's nods seemed too frequent. _He's probably as much in the dark as I am about the technical aspects of this_. 

"And then everything goes boom, prisoners saved and we get tons of free publicity at the start of our revolution. Any questions?"

"I still don't know how you'll fight alongside us, Tony," Steve replied. "How are you going to be blasting holes in walls without being attacked first?"

"JARVIS, show off the suit."

A segment of wall turned around. Steve's mouth fell open. The gold and red panels of the armor within the glass cabinet gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light of the garage. "Wow."

_Note to self: make sure Steve has that exact same facial expression after I fuck him_ , Tony thought through a smug grin. "One week to prepare. Let's make it count, guys."

**End of Act 2**


	3. Act 3

**ACT 3  
Part 26**  
One night during Prep Week, Clint saw a note being slid beneath his door. He picked it up.

_Barton,_

_I've got a really wicked idea. Come down to the garage. Wear only your boots, gloves and jacket. Nothing else, except that hot smirk of yours._

_-Logan_

The playful, mischievous grin spread across Clint's face as he began putting on the leather gloves and jacket. His heart rate increased as he slid into the motorcycle boots. _Hope JARVIS doesn't react to me going through the house with no pants_ he thought as he opened the doorway and left his room.

Less than a minute later he strode into Tony's basement workshop with a cocky smirk and a naughty spark in his eyes. He then looked towards where he and Logan parked their bikes.

"Glad ya could make it Arrowhead," Logan growled from atop his bike. He wore his jacket, gloves and boots, black leather chaps and nothing else. His open jacket exposed the thick coat of jet-black hair on his chiseled chest. He took a draw of the cigar that lay between his lips and kept his gaze focused on the younger man.  
"Because fuck, I'm horny right now," he grabbed his rigid manhood in his gloved fist and slowly shifted his left leg over to the other side of the bike, giving Clint a very good view of his hardon.

Clint's own cock began to rise as he walked over to the black-haired Canuck. He chuckled as he licked his lips, "I wonder how we're gonna fix that," he asked sarcastically. _Not that I'm complaining!_ He breathed in the scent of smoke and leather that surrounded the elder man and he only got harder.

His cock nearly burst when he heard the rasp that came from the feral's hungrily smirking lips. "Fuck me, Clint."

A few seconds later, the cigar lay stubbed out in a nearby ashtray and the Canadian was lying back and resting his head just beneath the cycle's handlebars. His thick thighs were parted wide; his right leg rested on the ground whilst his left arm hooked around the back of his left thigh and lifted his left leg up. The feral's wide jaw clenched and heavy brow furrowed as he moaned and groaned at the feeling of Clint's gloved, lube-slicked fingers sliding into his ass.

Hawkeye grinned as he surveyed the image of the muscular, shirtless, leather-clad man writhing atop the bike. His own cock throbbed as he felt the constriction around his fingers.

"Fuck yeah, Barton... that's right, goddamn ya know what ta do... every fuckin' knuckle feels amazin', kid. C'mon, gimme more, get me ready fer that cock o'yers..." The elder man nearly purred as he felt another finger enter him and spread him wider. 

Barton hoisted Logan's leather-wrapped left leg onto his shoulder, then used the same hand to lube his shaft. He carefully withdrew his other hand's fingers from the elder man's body and positioned the head right at the dark-haired man's well-prepared entrance. The playful grin and mischievous spark in his eyes only grew more obvious as he let himself relish the moment. He took a breath before starting to move forward.

An almost angry roar seemed to erupt from Logan's lungs as he felt the young blond's manhood slide into him. His knuckles went white, his eyes clamped shut and his teeth ground together as the steady, advancing pressure filled him slowly.   
"FUCK YEAH, CLINT!" He bellowed as he felt each vein on the archer's shaft grind against his prostate. His breath came in gasps until he felt the hilt of the other man's cock against his muscled ass.  
"Shit... ya know every spot..." he groaned.

"You know I'm always on target," Hawkeye replied smugly. The heat and tightness and sheer constriction surrounding his rigid length had the familiar energy building up within his groin already. "So, tell me something I already know... how does it feel buddy?"

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely amazin', kid...." Wolverine growled in a satisfied rumble. He looked up into the archer's face and responded to the younger man's playful smirk with a warm smile. "Ya cocky, worthy, talented rebel... C'mon, more... don't keep me waitin', blondie."

Clint didn't hesitate and he immediately began moving back and forth in swift but precise, smooth and measured strokes. Each thrust had him withdraw until only the head remained inside, before plunging balls-deep back into the stocky feral. The delicious friction and heat surrounding his cock had him leaking preseed already. Droplets of sweat snaked down the hard, sinewey musculature of his torso as he slammed his way back into the elder man. 

Logan's nerves were on fire with sensation; the heat and pressure pounded its way in and out of his body as he thrashed and growled and demanded more. The tightness in his balls morphed into a sore heat as he got ever closer to orgasm. The relentless grinding against his throbbing prostate finally drove him over the edge; his leather-gloved free hand began stroking his manhood and seconds later he shot his load over his chest. 

The ferocious growl Logan made sent shockwaves through Clint's brain that only drew more desperate slamming from him. Just then, the tension in his groin snapped. He gasped with each burst of cum he released into the savage's body as endorphines rapidly flooded his system. 

The two men were left panting atop Wolverine's Harley, their muscled torsos pressed together and their hearts still pounding.  
"Man... that was awesome..." Hawkeye whispered with a soft chuckle.

"Yep..." Logan replied as his smirk returned. "But I'm still horny. How about lettin' me have my turn?"

"Sure thing, Wolvie," the archer replied with a small smile, "just lemme recover. Not everyone has a healing-factor-powered instantly-regenerating-hardon."

About fifteen minutes later, the archer lay back on his own bike. His right leg remained planted on the floor but his left leg hooked itself over the elder man's sturdy shoulder. He felt the feral's gloved hand creeping into the cleft of his ass; his heart began to pound in both anticipation and... _please.. whatever you do, don't hurt me.._

The feral immediately smelled the nervous sweat, saw the slight twitch of the eye and heard the imperceptible-to-anyone-else shake in the breath. _Can't blame him. Apart from tha fact guys are his exception ta tha rule, 'Tasha was tha sadist from hell. Doubt she pegged him slowly_. He began speaking in a comforting purr,  
"don't worry Barton.. I always fuck ya gentle..."

Clint nodded and inhaled as he felt the first thick, slick, leather-clad finger enter him. His eyes rolled back as he felt each knuckle slide past the tight ring of muscle. The elder man's other hand slid up his torso; Logan's gloved fingers slowly tweaked his right nipple. The skin quickly grew almost as hard as his aching cock.   
"Yeah... I wouldn't want this if I didn't trust you... just..." he took another gasp as he felt a second finger begin to press against his entrance.

Concentration and concern etched itself on the feral's face as his second finger began to breach the younger man's immensely tight body. His second finger slid in at a glacial pace as he watched the blond's teeth clench... but there was no pain in the archer's eyes or scent.   
"Make sure ya tell me if it hurts..."

"I will... it doesn't," Clint responded. His grip became white-knuckle as he felt Logan's two fingers begin to move around and spread slowly. A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he felt his resistance drop. His thoughts began to lose coherence and his breathing became ragged as he felt his asshole being stretched ever wider, but with such care and caution. His right nipple throbbed from the tweaking as droplets of precum emerged at the tip of his manhood. As soon as he felt the third finger slide in and the elder man's gloved fingertips come to rest on his prostate, the only response he could make was a deep, hungry moan.

"Yeah... yer ready now, Arrowhead. Ready ta have my thick cock fill ya up..." Logan said as his fingers began to withdraw. His other hand left the archer's nipple and rested on the younger man's shoulder. He rubbed the remaining lube on his iron shaft before placing the broad head between Clint's hard butt-cheeks.

At that moment, the archer's eyes fixed on the elder man's. The heavy-browed face of the wildman had only one expression there, an expression 'Tasha never made; absolute respect.  
"You've earned this, Clint," the feral growled softly. And then the stocky Canadian's hips began to press forward.

The thrust was a single, continuous, smooth, extremely slow motion. A drawn-out moan spilled from the archer's lips as the Canadian's cock advanced ever deeper into him; his eyes clamped shut and his brow furrowed from the sheer intensity of the sensation yet Logan's careful preparation prevented any pain. His hands gripped Logan's arms for dear life as he felt his prostate being almost squeezed due to the impressive girth of the elder's manhood. He gasped, almost in relief, when he felt the base of the shorter man's shaft press against his butt.

"Fuck, Clint," Logan began with a wolfish smirk as his left hand reassuringly massaged Hawkeye's shoulder, "you took that cock so fuckin' well.. yer lovin' it ain'tcha? Told ya it wouldn't hurt one bit... Yer so fuckin' tight and hot in there, yer clampin' down on my dick so hard.. I ain't gonna last long inside ya.."

Clint opened his eyes and looked down for a second; already preseed leaked at the tip. "Me neither," he grunted as he took another breath. "Which sucks.."

A deep and sinister chuckle emerged from the dark-haired man. "That's why I'm gonna keep goin' real slow... let ya feel every inch an' every second... a long build up that makes yer balls feel like they're boilin' with need... ready fer that?" 

"You really gotta ask?" the taller man replied as the familiar naughty smirk returned to his face.

"Good man," the stocky mutant responded with a smile.

The feral began to move at a careful, measured pace. He withdrew progressively further each time, lengthening each thrust. Clint groaned and grunted beneath him; both men clenched their teeth as they tried to resist the tide.

_He was right_ , Clint thought as the sore heat in his balls only grew more intense; part of him wanted to release the tension _right now_ yet most of him didn't want the ecstasy to end. The warmth of the elder's body, the fullness and pressure and throbbing within him, the almost painful hardness of his own cock... the sensations simply overwhelmed him.

One final, agonizingly-slow thrust had Logan shift the angle towards the archer's sweet spot. The spike in intensity overcame his resistance; the younger man almost yelled as he felt every nerve in his body spontaneously combust. He grunted with each shot of seed he released and gasped when he was spent.

The wild spasming and clenching of Clint's ass around his cock pushed the Canadian too far; a deep rumble left his lungs as the tension spiked inside his groin. He came inside the younger man's body, purring and growling as he did.

About ten minutes later, both men were lying back on Logan's bed. _Snugglin' ain't optional_ , Logan thought to himself as his arms intertwined with Clint's. He could've gone another round; _fuck yeah, spread my legs wide, have him fuck me again, just as deep and slow as I fucked him..._ but he knew even Clint couldn't keep up with his libido. _Tha quality more than makes up fer tha quantity, though_. He held the archer's broad-shouldered, sinewy frame against his own stocky, sturdy, hairy musculature.

Clint's long limbs wrapped around the shorter man; _his body's so warm_ he thought as he remembered something Logan said earlier when he was fucking the man; _"cocky, worthy, talented rebel," everything about me that 'Tasha hates, he respects_. Consciousness began to leave him.

_One thing's fer sure, neither of us are gonna be havin' bad dreams about needles tonight_ Logan thought as a small smile spread across his face. 

**Part 27**  
 _It's Prep Week. Of course I'm preparing. Right now I'm preparing a Martini made on three-hundred-dollar vodka_ , he thought as he dropped a twist of lemon-peel into the clear liquid. As Tony Stark raised the ice-cold glass to his lips and took a sip, he heard a very heavy stride behind him.

"Hail, Brother Antony," Thor began in a seductive voice as his large hands came to rest on the dark-haired Midgardian's hard biceps. His bewhiskered chin moved into the crook of Tony's neck as his torso pressed into Tony's back.

_He's getting good at this_ Tony thought with a smirk as he tried not to shiver at the small scrapes of Thor's beard against his neck. "Hey big guy," he took another sip of his Martini, "how's things?"

"I wish to grant you something," he began in a low whisper. "Something I only grant to those worthy enough to be my shield brothers..."

_He wants me to indulge his sick little fetish again, doesn't he?_ Tony thought as he felt the Thunderer's hands begin to encircle his abdomen.

"I wish to honor you, Antony... honor you with Mjolnir, and bond with you as warriors bond with each other... will you grant me this?"

_Yep. His sick little fetish. And I know if I say no, he'll act like a kicked puppy. Sure, its hard to not laugh but it isn't like he enjoys it heavy... he's the Disney version of how most people into it act_. He managed to hold back his groans and snickers as he nodded. "Sure thing... Brother Thor."

Thor grinned like a child on Christmas morning as his grip on the inventor suddenly tightened up. "Thank you, Antony," he replied in a grateful whisper. "I shall see you in my room. You know what to wear." The Asgardian then released Stark and gleefully dashed up the stairs.

Tony swallowed the entire Martini in one gulp and then trudged back to his own room; a few seconds later he stood naked within his wardrobe and found what Thor wanted him to wear.  
 _Gray shirt, three blue runes printed across the chest... makes more sense for Thor than Greek letters_ he thought as he slid the shirt over his own muscular, slightly stocky frame. He then plucked a white jockstrap out of the drawer and pulled it on. _I said I'd indulge him, might as well put some effort into it_. 

A minute later, Tony walked into Thor's bedroom. Thor stood dressed identically to Tony; the tight gray shirt clung to every bulging muscle that reinforced his torso. He held a bubble-wrapped, rectangular object in his hand; his fingers began to tear through the wrapping. 

_I'm surprised he hasn't had hundreds of these made_ the inventor thought to himself as he looked upon the unwrapped object; Thor's custom fraternity paddle with the runic script for "Mjolnir" carved into the glossy surface of the wood. The inventor walked towards the Asgardian with a smirk on his face; Thor responded with a warm grin and held out the paddle, handle towards the dark-haired man.

"You first, Brother Antony," Thor gregariously stated, "my strength is as much yours, as yours is mine." Tony accepted the paddle from him and he pulled the padded sawhorse from the closet. Without even a second's hesitation he bent over lengthways, face towards the glass wall overlooking the ocean and ass towards Tony.

Tony licked his lips as he looked at the Norseman's ass; the rock-hard globes of musculature sat at the top of phenomenally thick thighs. A very light sprinkling of red-gold hairs ran down the thunderer's glutes and legs. Each muscle's powerful motions reminded Tony of suspension bridge cables being pulled tight. His blood raced downwards as his grip around the paddle's handle grew tense.  
 _Alright. That ass is worth the bad acting_.

The inventor slid the edge of the paddle between Thor's ass cheeks and watched the larger man quiver with anticipation.  
"What do you want, Brother Thor?" he asked rhetorically. _"For you to whack my ass, duh!"_

"Please, Brother Antony," the monolithic Asgardian groaned, "I need this..."

Tony quickly raised the paddle and brought it down upon Thor's steel-hard ass, just enough to see the flesh get redder but no more. The Norseman grunted and pushed his butt out more. _Keep looking at that ass and you'll forget the next line_.   
"You sure do, big guy. Watching you take each swat like the worthy man you are..." Three more quick swats followed; the muscles on the red-blond man's body tensed in time with each crack that reached Tony's ears.

_I can't believe I'm not collapsing in laughter_ , Tony thought several minutes later. He stuck to the well-rehearsed lines, alternating between whacks of the paddle and rubbing it against the Asgardian's ass. 

Thor trembled in anticipation and catharsis; his body shivered in between each impact. The slightly stinging, sore warmth on his ass brought adrenaline into his bloodstream. His heavy breathing underscored the near-desperation of his demands.  
"More, Brother Antony. I can take it. I am honored to take this from you."

"Good man," Tony responded. _Now my arm's getting sore... if I pull a muscle I'm gonna be pissed_.

Several minutes later, Thor was standing and his thick arms encircled the dark-haired genius; he felt the shorter man's own warm embrace surround his broad back. His chest heaved and a few stray droplets of sweat dripped from his brow.  
"Thank you... thank you Brother."

Even Tony couldn't help but feel warmth rise in the pit of his stomach at the sheer affection and brotherliness Thor gave so freely. All the falsehoods he had to put on for the media, all the fake civility of the board members ( _they'd all do anything just to dilute my share and get more for themselves... parasites_ ), the cruelty of Howard... had anyone he'd ever met been so freely giving with friendship as Thor? 

"Alright, Brother..." Thor began with the beginnings of a grin as he took the paddle away from Tony, "'tis your turn to be honored with Mjolnir. Prepare and position yourself, Brother Antony."

Tony nodded silently and took up the same position Thor used. He shivered as he felt the surface of the paddle move along his bare ass; he could feel the rune-shaped grooves carved into the wood. He growled slightly as he felt the edge sliding up and down between his buttocks.

"You crave this, do you not?"

"I do, Brother Thor," Tony replied. _Better acting than usual!_ Tony then gasped as he felt the paddle strike his ass; a bright flash of hot sting faded into a dull throb as a thunder-like sound bounced off the walls. There wasn't much pain; _the big guy's not into this for pain, thankfully_ he thought. He gritted his teeth as he felt three more quick swats.

"Indeed, Brother Antony, and you're a good man for accepting it. It takes a man of integrity to declare he needs this," The longhaired man soothingly slid the paddle's surface against the reddening ass of the inventor for a few seconds before giving another swat to him; he licked his lips as he saw the dark-haired man's muscles tense up. His manhood strained against his jockstrap. "Yes, you are worthy of this, worthy of my brotherhood."

Tony's breathing had become heavier as the heat on his ass kept building up. His fingers were white as he gripped the sawhorse's front legs. He shivered as he felt the edge of the paddle move between his cheeks again. He then clenched his teeth as he felt another impact; the sensation rippled through his body like an electric shock.   
"You need more, don't you, Brother?" He heard Thor say in a low, warm, dignified voice. _Yeah, I don't mind playing along_ he thought as he nodded.

"Aye, Brother. Good man," the Asgardian replied as he made a few more swats; lighter than but faster than the usual. He smiled warmly as he looked at the pinkish-red glow on the shorter man's butt. _He trusts me to bond with him, to not degrade or diminish or torment him... my genius brother.._ He imagined how after this he'd embrace the inventor, surround Stark with his thick arms and hold the man firmly against his rugged torso. He raised the paddle again for another strike.

Without any warning, the door opened.  
"Thor, I was..." Captain Rogers instantly fell silent after entering the room. His eyes went wide as he surveyed the scene; a half-naked, red-butted Tony bent over a padded sawhorse, a similarly half-naked and red-butted Thor holding a fraternity paddle with runes carved into it. His jaw began to descend.

"C'mon, this isn't the weirdest thing you've seen" Tony said to Steve in a tone of blunt indifference. "Didn't they have knocking during the Depression?"

"I... well..." Steve stammered as his face grew as red as Thor's ass, "Thor said if I needed him I didn't... well... I didn't hear anything from inside."

"Soundproof walls," Tony replied. "Thor, did you give Steve permission to barge in any time?"

"Aye, Antony. Although I didn't anticipate consequences such as this. But perhaps the good Captain would like to stay!" Thor's tone returned to enthusiasm at the last sentence, "care to join in, Brother Steven?"

"I'll pass," Steve responded as he quickly left the room and closed the door.

For a few minutes, Steve stood in the hallway. The Super Soldier made no motions other than the blinking of his eyelids. He stared into space as his inner monologue fell silent. He didn't really know what to think.

**Part 28**  
"Really?"

Steve nodded.

"Really?"

Steve nodded again as his blush subsided slightly.

"You really expect me to believe that you've never gone beyond third base?"

"I haven't... before the serum no one was interested in me. After the serum I was too busy selling war bonds or fighting the war."

Tony smirked, "not even some soldierly bonding exercises with your commando unit?"

Steve's blush returned. "Well... nothing beyond third base," he shakily answered.

"What about Peggy? It counts as beyond third base if Peggy pegged you, by the way."

"Pegged? Do I even want to know?"

"Yeah, probably not. Doubt you even had strap-ons back then."

"Strap-on what?"

"Nevermind," Tony continued as he took a long breath. _So I'm the first to plunder the national treasure! Howard didn't! Score!_ He turned his head away from the ceiling and towards the other man; Steve lay beside him in his bed, blond head atop thick pillows.  
"Why me? Why not Thor, Clint or Logan?"

"You saved me from that Resoc camp. You're masterminding and funding this rebellion. And you're the smartest man I've ever met." Steve spoke free of any hesitations or pauses.

"Smarter than Howard?" Tony asked quietly. He wanted to cheer when he saw Steve nod in reply. 

"Plus I've... heard you're really good at this.."

Tony's smile shifted from an elated grin to an evil smirk. "Guilty as charged. So you want me to show you?" _Of course he does. But I want him to say it_.

Steve's face went redder as he tried to find the words. "I... I... well... yeah..." _Don't back down, soldier. You've felt pain and fear and embarrassment but it's never made you back down_. He took a breath and exhaled slowly as he locked his gaze onto the inventor's; "Yes, Tony. I want this. I want you."

Tony instantly dived for the nightstand, yanked the drawer open and removed a tube of lube from it. He quickly straddled Steve's legs and squirted a huge glob of lube into his hand. "Awesome! So we should probably start with the easy part, how about me riding your cock? We know you wanna fuck my ass after all..." Tony's gaze moved downwards to Steve's stiffening cock and he quickly wrapped his gel-slathered hand around the thick pillar of flesh.

Steve shivered at the coldness of the gel but he remained slack-jawed as he looked up at Tony. _Whoa, slow down! Too fast!_ "Tony..." he said quietly as he looked up at the inventor; the arc reactor's glow emanated from the dark-haired man's chest.

"And I wanna make your first time go with clockwork efficiency instead of being all awkward and fumbly because that kind of sex usually hurts like a bitch and..." The inventor continued rubbing the lube over Steve's cock without missing a breath as his own shaft reached it's full size. His balls ached as his gaze wandered over Steve's chest and abs.

"Tony!" Steve quickly snapped. He instantly saw Stark's eyes lock onto his own, the gaze was one of surprise rather than hurt. "Just... take your time okay?"

Tony took another breath as he continued to rub at Steve's cock, but with a slower pace. "Okay. Fine. Anyway," he continued, "I promise one-hundred-percent satisfaction." He then reached behind his back and wrapped his fingers around the rubber cylinder.

Steve's jaw dropped again as he watched Stark pull something from... _he had that thing... there?_ He couldn't deny how handsome Tony's face looked; jaw clenched and eyes rolled back in pleasure as the... thing... was removed from Tony's ass.

"Just some pre-prep. To make sure things proceed smoothly," Tony continued with a smug smirk as he placed the butt-plug onto the nightstand, base down.

"You certainly plan ahead," Steve replied in an almost uncertain tone. He shuddered as he watched the inventor slide up his body; he watched as Tony rose upwards, and then he bit his lip as he felt the head of his cock slide between the genius' rock-hard ass cheeks.

Tony smirked smugly and licked his lips in relish before he began to lower himself onto the Super Soldier's manhood; the hard, defined planes of his solid form glistened with a very light sheen of sweat as his teeth clenched. "Fuck... Steve..." he growled as he felt the other man's length move into his body.

The blond gasped as he felt inch after inch of his shaft be devoured and engulfed by the constricting heat of the inventor's ass. His own face flushed again as his breathing became frantic. The sheer amount of sensation surrounding his cock seemed to block out all other nerve impulses in his body. "Oh gosh... that's... that's so..."

"Good, right?" Tony asked as he peered down at Steve with a filthy, arrogant, smug smirk on his face. "Knew you'd love it." He grunted again as a bead of moisture emerged at the head of his manhood. His hands moved over the sculpted bulges of the blond's torso as he shifted his own body at an angle. "Oh yeah, that's the spot," he said through as gasp as he felt Steve's cock rub against his prostate. 

Steve just lay there, in shock at the sight of the genius impaled upon his shaft. With no conscious thought his hands gripped the other man's hips. He shuddered as he felt the dark-haired man lean down and whisper into his ear; Tony's goatee tickled him.  
"Want me to ride your cock? Yeah I know, obvious answer, but c'mon, this is the part where you usually beg and possibly even swear while you ask..."  
"Please..." Steve quickly cut Tony off in a desperate voice, "please ride me Tony.."

Without even a second's hesitation, Stark reared back and began rapidly sliding up and down the Captain's maleness. The inventor groaned and growled as he felt the throbbing heat slide in and out of his body; he stifled cries each time the other man's length collided against his sweet spot. Sweat dripped from his brow as more droplets of precum fell from his achingly-hard shaft. "Oh man, Steve you feel so damn good right there," Tony blurted without any pauses between syllables. 

Steve's knuckles were white as his hands stayed on Tony's hips. The repeated motion and constant heat around his cock only increased the tension in his groin. His heartbeat became faster and faster as his own hips began to thrust upward into the inventor's body. Tony began to nearly yell in response; it only encouraged him further. The soldier's ragged breaths became grunts as he imagined licking every drop of sweat off Tony's body. He clenched his teeth as he felt the tension increase, as if the air were becoming electrically charged. "Not... much... longer..." he snarled.

Tony's motions became wilder; formerly smooth and nearly mechanical in their precision, the inventor's up-and-down oscillations had became discoordinated chaos that Steve's grip simply could not manage. He bit his lip but couldn't hold off any longer; the endless stream of consciousness that thundered through his mind went blank. His dark eyes rolled back as a moan spilled from his lips; he clamped down on Steve's cock as he came all over the blond man's torso. 

Steve quivered beneath the inventor, shut his eyes and grit his teeth as he came. The tightness surrounding his cock only succeeded at pulling what felt like every single drop of seed out of his body. Everything outside the sensations coursing through his skin seemed nonexistent for that brief moment of catharsis. When his conscious thoughts returned to him, all he concentrated on was the rhythm of his breathing.

"See? Told you it was fun," Tony quickly said as he climbed off Steve and dashed into the bathroom. He came back with tissues and a washcloth. "So, up for Round 2 when we both recover?" He made another devilish smirk when he saw Rogers' nod silently. 

Several minutes later, Steve lay on his stomach with spread legs. The soldier had a pillow wedged between his arm and his head; Tony's gaze hungrily moved up the rugged terrain of his back. Steve's breaths hitched in his throat as he felt the air brushing against his exposed asshole. _Relax, soldier, he promised not to hurt you, and he never has..._ He felt his heart pound as he felt Tony's weight behind him.

The inventor knelt between Steve's spread legs and slathered his long, tinkering-roughened fingers with a very generous amount of lube. "If this feels anything like a medical exam then I'm doing it wrong. Gimme feedback, alright?"

"I will," Steve responded. He lay there and just breathed, awaiting it to begin. He felt his fingers dig into the pillow.

He took one more breath. Then he felt it... just the single finger sliding into him. He shuddered with each knuckle that passed into his body; the sensation didn't hurt yet it felt more... strange... than pleasurable. The second finger slid in shortly thereafter, and groans began to well up from his lungs as the felt himself begin to open.

_It should be right... about... here_ , he thought as he crooked his fingers. At that second, it looked like seizmic shocks tore through the terrain of Steve's back. 

"Jesus Christ!!" the soldier yelled as his fingers almost ripped the sheets. He gasped as he felt it again; the jolt of pleasure burned through his synapses as he clamped his eyes shut. "What was that?"

"Your prostate, handsome," Tony replied before licking a trail up Steve's spine. He smirked as he felt the blond shiver; his own rock-hard manhood stood waiting. "How's it feel? Want another finger?"

"Please, yes!" He then clenched his teeth as his eyes rolled back; the stretch between his cheeks had his shaft rigid already. The inventor's skilled fingers writhed and twisted within his body, slowly overwhelming all resistance. Feeling all three fingers splayed out inside him only propelled more groans and moans out of his lungs. "Oh god, Tony... please don't keep me waiting... I want this..."

Tony smirked and licked his lips as he watched the soldier's muscles pull and strain; his heartbeat grew faster as he felt the constriction around his fingers. "Don't worry, you'll get it, promise," he said in a slow, seductive tone, "but I want you on your back. I want to watch your face when I push into you, Steve." 

Steve gulped as he heard Tony's voice slither into his mind. His arms felt like they were jelly as he pushed himself up off the pillow and twisted his body around; he hissed at the feeling of rotating around Tony's knuckles. He laid himself back down on the firm mattress; his face now visible to Tony.

_His cheeks are redder than my ass after indulging Thor_ , Tony thought as he slid his fingers out of Steve. He watched the soldier's square jaw clench before he covered his manhood in more lube. He lifted the war hero's legs up onto his shoulders and then positioned the crown of his cock between the blond's steel-hard glutes.  
"Relax, Rogers. It won't hurt a bit." _And you've seen actual Tony Stark and warmed up to him. Not many people do that. Not enough. Not even Pepper's seen real me. And I'm gonna fuck the memories of Howard right out of your skull_. 

The inventor drifted forward in a careful, practiced motion; a soft, low moan came from Tony's lips as he felt the Super Soldier's body clamp down on his manhood. His cock slid deeper and deeper into Steve's ass as the blond beneath him groaned and purred.

"M..more... oh jesus, Tony..." Rogers gasped as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. His fists dug into the sheets again as the warm, filling stretch moved further and further into his body. His brow furrowed at the crushing pressure of Tony's shaft against his prostate as droplets of moisture beaded at the tip of his length. "More... please god dammit more..."

Tony couldn't help but grin as he saw the larger man quiver and quake on the end of his cock. The clenched muscles surrounding his shaft seemed determined to squeeze every drop they could get out of him. Tony panted as he watched the soldier's chest rise and fall; the inventor's fingers dug even deeper into the taller man's meaty thighs as he watched a single bead of sweat trail through the valleys of Steve's abs. 

"Please Tony... please fuck me," Steve asked; the soldier still blushed but his eyes looked into Tony's with a certain, almost demanding gaze.

Tony responded with a smug, sinister smirk as he withdrew his manhood slowly; Steve hissed and trembled but yelled out in pleasure as Stark slid his cock back inside. The technologist's fingers gripped Steve's thighs with white-knuckled force as his hips moved back and forth, burying his cock to the hilt with each stroke. As the steady, smooth thrusts continued one after another with no pauses between, Tony clenched his teeth; _shit, almost there... oh fuck his ass is so perfect and he looks so hot with my dick up his ass..._ His pulse mimicked a machine gun as the energy pooled in his gut.

"Tony!" Steve nearly bellowed as wave after wave of electricity coursed up his spine and shredded his mind apart. The tightness in his groin grew painful as inch after inch of the dark-haired man's shaft entered and exited his ass. He didn't even feel the bruising force of the fingertips on his thighs; the heat and pressure moving in and out of his body blinded his nerves to any other sensation. The ache in his loins only got greater as his muscular torso writhed on the bed; he bit his lip but he knew he wouldn't last much longer. "Oh god... Tony... I'm.. about to..." Suddenly, he roared as he saw stars.

With one final thrust aimed directly at the Super Soldier's prostate, Tony buried himself in Steve; he watched seed erupt from the blond's cock. The spasming tightness around his maleness brought him to his own climax. He unloaded burst after burst of his essence inside the larger man; the world around him began to go hazy as the endorphine-saturated afterglow started to take hold.

For a minute, both men just held still; Tony supported his weight with his arms as he just looked into Steve's face. Both men were breathing hard; their inhales and exhales almost came as a call-and-response. Afterward, Tony flopped down beside the soldier.

"So, you want Chinese for dinner? Or Japanese? Or Italian? Or Mexican? We got everything."  
"After that workout.. 'everything' sounds tempting."

**Part 29**  
The next day, Steve Rogers again put on his new outfit. The blue T-shirt with the white star, the star-spangled jockstrap (he cringed), the black-white-gray urban camouflage pants, the black leather belt with the US flag belt buckle, the black leather jacket with silver zips and buckles and US flag patches on the upper biceps...

But he saved the best for last. As he laced up the knee-high black boots, he felt the limb becoming stronger. The rush almost reminded him of Project Rebirth, how the adrenaline coursed through his veins like liquid fire as the feeling of strength flowed into every cell of his body. The light from the window splashed off the leather of the boots into a haze that made his mouth water.

_Given what usually goes on these days, I shouldn't feel so weird about this_ , he thought. But he couldn't fight the blush on his face when he remembered the conversation he had with Logan recently.

_"Logan, I need to ask you something confidentially."_

_"No problem, Cap. Ask away."_

_"I..." he blushed, "well, you know how everyone in this world is... well, kinky?"_

_Logan nodded._

_"Does being against Novus Lupus mean we can't be? Because I saw Thor and Tony..."_

_Logan cut Steve off with a chuckle and a knowing smirk. "Not all kinks have ta be about D/s, Rogers. Dom and sub ain't about what ya do in bed, but about how and why ya do it. Thor's kink ain't mine, but I know it ain't about D/s with him. Ya follow?"_

_Steve nodded. "So I can... try something new... without D/s?"_

_Logan's smirk flashed teeth as he replied. "O'course. Why? Wanna try somethin' new?"_

_Steve couldn't stop half of his blood supply rushing to his cheeks as he witnessed the depraved, hungry leer on Logan's face combined with the feral's filthy, predatory growl. He gulped._

_Logan chuckled darkly. "Didn't wanna tell Tony ya got a kink or three? Why ask me?"_

_"You... looked kinda... well... like you'd be..."_

_"Tha right man ta ask? Well, ya got that right. I got more kinks than everyone else in this house. Consider this a standin' offer... when tha curiosity's about ta kill tha Cap, I'm right here."_

He stood outside Logan's door for a few seconds. _Don't chicken out; Logan's not going to be like that son of a bitch at the Resoc Camp.._ He knocked. 

He entered to the sight of Logan leaning back in a chair. The mutant's jacket lay open and revealed a chest coated in a dense forest of jet black hair. His eyes moved down and took in the sight; the black leather gloves, jeans, and most importantly, the boots. Classic motorcycle boots that reached up to the feral's knees. His mouth began to water.

"Someone's eager," Logan said with a filthy grin. "Not that I'm complainin'. Close tha door, Rogers, then we can have a little chat." 

Steve's heartrate jumped for a second as he felt the wildman's voice move through the coils of his brain. He shut the door without taking his eyes off the shorter man. He then sat down on the bed.  
"I don't know what I'm doing..." Steve began as he shook his head.

"No pressure, Rogers. Just say what ya need ta say." The Canadian could smell the embarrassment, the fear, the arousal and the familiar hurricane of contradictory feelings. _Been there_.

"I..." Steve took a breath. "It started back in the Resoc camp." His exhale was slightly unstable; only Logan noticed the wavering. "They tried to break me... so they tried to appeal to the soldier instincts."

Logan only nodded. _Not surprisin'... that's tha military fer ya... reprogram yer mind so ya think like a pack animal, that way its easy ta control ya... Novus Lupus' ideas weren't new..._

Steve continued. "At the camp, they got this drill instructor to try and break me. Beatings.... forced workouts..." his voice grew shaky, "a whole lot of other sick stuff. Several times he ordered me to 'learn some respect' and lick his boots."

The soldier then looked up, straight into Logan's eyes. His voice grew harsh and certain as he spoke again. "But I know respect. Real respect. And that bastard deserved none of it. I'd have rather died than lick his boots."

Logan smirked hungrily as he saw the fire in the blond's eyes and heard the conviction in the tone. _Fuck, Rogers, yer makin' me hard right now_ he thought, but he kept quiet as he watched the taller man's glance evade his again.

"Then when I first tried on this outfit Tony got me... something hit me.." the shakiness, so slight that Logan could barely hear it, returned. "The man in the mirror... the embodiment of every ideal I've fought for," he blushed, "didn't he deserve that kind of respect? That kind of admiration? Would I worship his boots?" Steve just nodded in conclusion.

Logan simply nodded back before replying. "I think I see where yer comin' from, Cap. So lemme get this straight." Logan leaned forward, towards the soldier. His lips were held in a straight line as his cobalt eyes remained unflinchingly locked onto Steve's flustered face. The gravelly rasp of his voice sliced through the silence.  
"Fer you, this can't be about humiliation. This is a respect thing fer ya; ya see it as payin' a tribute."

Steve nodded with wide-eyes; he felt a rush as the labyrinth of confusing feelings in his head started to make sense. His heart began to race.

"But yer a man of integrity, Steve. Ya ain't gonna pay a tribute ta someone unworthy. They gotta deserve it, don't they? So ya wouldn't give it ta that brute at tha camp. But someone that deserved it..."

Steve's breathing began to speed up as each piece of the puzzle fell into place. He barely even nodded as he heard Logan inhale deeply.

"Don't feel guilty fer findin' tha man in tha mirror deservin', Steve. That makes it better..." he began to smirk again, "ya know yer worthy of that kinda respect too. They should be fuckin' honored ta have ya shinin' up their boots, and the only kinda man that would be worthy of you doin' that fer is one that would be able ta see that yer just as worthy of that kinda respect yerself."

Steve gulped. He only saw Logan's face come closer to his. His fingers gripped the sheets of the bed he sat on. Suddenly it all began to make sense.

"Lemme guess, ya got told modesty's a virtue and all that bullshit? But right at tha base of that little kink o'yers, there's pride there; yer convinced ya know what's good and yer gonna stick ta yer guns, stick to 'em enough ta show that kinda respect ta someone that deserves it. And enough ta know ya deserve it just as much."

"How... how did you... know that?!?" His wide-eyed gaze and slightly open mouth almost drew a chuckle from the Canadian.

"Apart from tha fact I ain't exactly Mister Vanilla, I got heightened senses. Basically makes me a walkin' polygraph. That... plus I'm kinda similar. I'm strong, but I don't like ta fuck tha weak. Biggest turnoff in tha world is some worthless scum beggin' ta be broken." He then slowly licked his lips as the hungry spark returned to his gaze; "but gimme someone strong, cocky, determined, impossible ta control... now that's what I want. Their strength ain't no threat ta mine; their pride don't reduce mine, their greatness don't diminish mine. Someone that's just as willin' ta give what they get, get what they give, stand up fer 'emselves.. I'm fuckin' cummin' in my pants already."

Steve gulped again. He felt some of the blood leave his cheeks only to travel down to his manhood. The other man started to chuckle; the low, rough sound vibrated almost sensually against his eardrum. _Oh god...._

But the soldier immediately stood up. He walked several steps away. 

Logan stayed in the chair and laughed. "Hey, no pressure Steve. I can tell ya gotta really admire someone before ya wanna do anythin', includin' anythin' kinky, with 'em." 

Steve stopped in his tracks for a second before turning around and nodding. "Yes... I don't want this to sound like an insult, but..."

"We've known each other fer about a week, Rogers. No offense taken. O'course," he began to growl and leer again, "I ain't gonna deny hopin' that one day... ya wanna do this with me."

He took another breath and fought down the blush. "I... wouldn't object... when that day came."

Steve emerged back in the hallway and closed the door behind him. He still breathed heavily. _I chickened out, didn't I?_ he thought at first. 

_Not really..._ he thought as he took another breath. The chaotic swirl of mixed emotions in his head died down as Steve remembered what the feral told him. _It makes sense now.. I guess it's still rather weird.. but at least its a comprehensible weird_.

Back in his room, the Canadian had a smug grin on his face. _Interestin' that Steve said 'when' tha day comes, not 'if'..._

**Part 30**  
The droplet of sweat snaked down his face. His teeth clenched around the gag in his mouth, this eyes clamped shut and his fingers dug into the padded surface of the table. _Nothing lessens the pain_ he thought as his muffled cries were only greeted by her silence.

She only smirked as her hand drifted to the tray beside the table. Her fingers moved further to the left this time and picked up a needle with a larger gauge.

_Ohfucknotthatonepleasemistressdon'tdothattomeagain..._

Clint woke with a gasp. Cold sweat soaked the sheets; he tossed them aside and stood up. He looked out the window and saw pale streaks of silvery moonlight across the ocean, but quickly turned away. _Looks like more needles..._ The archer slid on a purple t-shirt and a pair of purple silk boxer shorts before leaving his room and walking down the stairs.

Thor sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk in his hand. His eyes remained downcast. _Silence, still... wherever you are Loki, please be safe_.

The Asgardian looked up and smiled slightly as he saw the blond archer enter the kitchen. He observed the younger man give a small smile back in reply.  
"Greetings, Brother Clinton."

"Hey Thor," he responded as he rummaged through the refrigerator. _There we go.. my cider, right there_. He removed the large dark-brown-glass bottle from the cool space and closed the door of the appliance before sitting down and popping the cap. He took a swig.

"Sleep eluding you again this evening, Brother?" Thor asked. His own eyes were bloodshot.

Clint just nodded. "The bitch thought she owned my soul. Even the damn nightmares seem to agree..." he observed dryly. "Wonder if when I make her look like Saint Sebastian the dreams'll go the hell away."

Thor looked at the normally-playful archer and remembered all the times Loki sat down with him, despondent and defeated; so unlike those wonderful days when they played pranks on Heimdall...  
"Perhaps, talented archer," he responded, "yet at the moment we must find rest."

"Yeah. Resoc Camps don't liberate themselves..." Clint replied before he took another deep drink of the sweet apple liquor. 

"Would it assist you for us to share a bed?" Thor asked in a completely innocent, sincere tone. _It always helped when Loki was younger.. neither of us endured nightmares when we shared beds_.

Clint took another deep swallow before nodding. _He gives the best hugs. And hopefully he won't hug me to the point of suffocating_. 

Several minutes later, Thor spooned up behind Clint; his thick arms surrounded the archer's sinewy, hard torso.

Clint had to stifle a moan at the feeling of all that warmth enveloping him. The Asgardian's rock-hard limbs encircled his own body; he could feel Thor's stubble grazing against his neck. On instinct, Clint pushed back into Thor's body and let the warmth soak into his flesh. 

Thor purred in contentment as he felt the young, mischievous Midgardian bask in his embrace. "Aye, Brother Clinton... courageous warrior, indomitable soul... that monstrous wench never managed to vanquish your spirit or extinguish your yearning for freedom." His biceps swelled as he held the sharpshooter tighter. His scratchy stubble began to rub at the transition between Clint's shoulder and neck as he nuzzled the shorter man.

Hawkeye couldn't help but blush as he felt a certain hardness pressing into his body. _And it isn't a hammer in his pocket_ he thought as the blush changed into a smirk. He turned his head towards the Norseman's face.

"Brother..." Thor began slightly unsteadily, "I know that other men aren't your principal interest but..."

"You're on the exceptions list, Thor," Clint replied back with his smirk still completely in place. "Don't feel awkward about hitting me up."

Thor's unease vanished as his perpetually sunny grin returned. His fingers gently carded through the short, spiky hair of the younger man. "Then what pleasures would you be in the mood for, handsome hawk?"

"I could go a blowjob right now. Happy to return the favor, too." _Actually I think I'll pay in advance_ , he thought.

A few seconds later, the Thunderer was spread out on the bed; the mountainous terrain of Thor's body looked even more imposing in the glow of the moonlight, yet he smiled as Clint locked eyes with him. His slab-like pecs rose and fell with each breath as he felt Clint's lips travel down his torso. His smile became a wide grin as he felt the archer's hot breath against the head of his rigid cock.

Barton's tongue slid out of his mouth and trailed over the crown of Thor's manhood. He watched the larger man's body quiver as the surface of his tongue began to coil around and descend the thick, throbbing shaft.

"Aye, brother Clinton," Thor moaned, "you honor me with this. You're so skilled with your mouth" he said just before he gasped. The tight, hot, slick throat of the archer had just engulfed his steel-hard length. His hand wandered back to that spiky blond head and stroked encouragingly. 

Clint rose off Thor's cock with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. His lips just sat on the head for a moment before he planted a kiss on the sensitive flesh. His mouth made its way down the thunderer's dick and left a trail of kisses and light nibbles along the underside. He felt the aching hardness of his own cock strain against the fabric of his boxer shorts as his mouth began to reverse course and move back up the Asgardian's shaft. A droplet of preseed had slid downward to meet his lips; he licked it up with a moan.

The thunderer's head snapped back and a long growl of ecstasy escaped his lips as he felt the younger man's mouth again ensnare his maleness. The tightness of the throat, the relentless swirling of the tongue and the molten heat enveloping his cock sent thunderbolts racing through his synapses and into his brain. The constant motion over his length's sensitive surface only made the muscles in his groin tighten further.  
"Yes... yes, brother," he gasped as his free hand wrenched at the sheets, "I'm near..."

The sharpshooter smirked around his mouthful of cock. _Almost_ , he thought as he felt the throb of Thor's manhood in his throat. His own shaft ached rigidly but he kept his hands on the Asgardian's hips as he intensified his sucking. His tongue slid out of his mouth and crept down towards the long-haired man's heavy balls; mere seconds later he felt the thunderer's body begin to shake and hot liquid shoot down his throat.

A roar spilled from Thor's mouth as he felt the muscles in his groin tighten and spasm; his pulse exploded as waves of catharsis radiated from the epicenter of his manhood. Stabs of heat ravaged his nerves as he felt each burst of orgasm race through his body. He frantically drew in breaths; shortly he saw the familiar arrogant smirk looming above him.

"Told you I'm awesome. How do you feel dude?"  
"Nearly sated," the Norseman replied breathlessly, "I still wish to taste of you, shield brother."

It wasn't long before Clint was on his back with his legs spread wide; the aching throb of his desperate hardon almost hurt. Threads of cool air trailed over his skin as he looked impatiently at the grinning Thunderer.

"Soon, brother Clinton," Thor replied. "I witness your anticipation. Let it be known it is as much an honor to service your manhood as it is to have you servicing mine." His wide smile remained in place as his stubbled face lowered itself between the archer's muscled legs.

"Keep saying stuff like that and OH MAN!" he moaned as he felt the scruff of Thor's jaw grinding against his inner thighs. The rough texture rubbed against his balls as the Asgardian's humid breath stroked against the base of his shaft. Hawkeye's heart pounded as his fingers dug into the sheets. His brow furrowed and eyes clamped shut as he finally felt the deity's tongue moving up the underside of his cock. 

Thor kept his eyes fixed on the Midgardian as he tasted the faint saltiness of the young man's flesh. He watched as the sinews and ligaments and muscles that constructed Barton's body tensed and relaxed with each motion of his tongue. _You deserve this, Midgardian, this testament to your skill and courage and defiance_. Finally his tongue reached the spot just beneath the head of Clint's rigid length; he rapidly flicked the area with the tip of his tongue and felt the stronger saltiness of the archer's preseed.

"Holy fuck!!!" Clint snarled through gritted teeth as he felt the tongue lavishing attention on _that spot_. His rigid cock and low-hanging balls were filled with sore heat. He forced his eyes open and took in the sight of the red-gold haired thunder god's mouth opening and closing in on his maleness. Finally he felt the constricting throat of the Asgardian engulf him. He yelled in pleasure as the tightness and heat ensnared inch after inch of his shaft; his right hand immediately found its way into the leonine mane of the larger man. The tension in his balls only grew tighter.

_Yes, brother Clinton, let me witness your pleasure_ he thought as he observed the archer's body quaking above him. His tongue kept ravishing Hawkeye's shaft, tracing the veins along its length. The younger man's grunts and stifled cries reached his ears as he slid down to the base each time; he could feel the other man's heartbeat in his throat.

A string of obscenities tore through the air as Clint thrust upward into Thor's willing, attentive mouth. A noise in between a cry and a growl spilled from his lips as the ache in his groin was finally obliterated in violent convulsions. Every nerve in his body seemed to overload as shot after shot of his essence spilled down Thor's throat. 

The Asgardian swallowed the Midgardian's manhood down to the very base and each burst of seed reached this stomach still warm. He groaned as he watched the young archer's limps thrash around in ecstasy, his pride only swelled at his accomplishment.

Soon after, the two men lay entangled in each other's limbs and the sheets. Clint nuzzled into Thor's neck and both men's arms wrapped tightly around each other's broad torsos. Neither of them found sleep elusive. 

**End of Act 3**


	4. Act 4

**ACT 4  
** Part 31  
The dry desert wind whipped around them as they stood on the hill overlooking the camp. 

Thor clutched his hammer as the red-gold strands of hair blew across his face. His gray t-shirt, tan hiking boots and blue jeans were the only clothes he had.

Hawkeye stood without his jacket; the tiny pinpricks over his arms were visible to all, yet no one commented on them. "Alright guys, I'm off to do my part. Radio silence until we rendezvous. You'll know when I'm done." He began to descend the hill, backing away from the camp.

Steve and Tony both nodded. "We will," Tony replied as the soft late-afternoon sunlight gleamed off his armor. His faceplate rendered his reply through multiple filters. 

_He starts with an infiltration, then Tony hacks the systems, then we go in_ the soldier thought to himself as his gaze focused on the camp. "This is where they held me," he said in the most professional tone he could summon.

"Yeah. So you can take as much delicious tasty revenge as you want," Tony replied dryly as a computer screen flipped up from a panel on his forearm. His free hand's metal fingers tapped at the keys.

"And if yer not one fer wet-work," Logan growled as he popped his claws, "ya know who ta call. There are lots of innocents here... but lotsa people deservin' of much more than a stabbin'." His mouth sat in a grim line.

Clint's footsteps echoed against the concrete walls of the pipe. _One of the benefits of working for those NL bastards; they always have a convenient evacuation route for agents to use. Which can be re-purposed into an infiltration route_. The metal box Tony gave him weighed heavily in his hand. The gray steel bars of the gate loomed before him as his steps became heavier. 

Back on the hill, the console on Tony's arm beeped. "Goody, he's in. I'm deploying the virus right now; it should render the surveillance network blind to him. As long as no one sees Clint, we'll be fine."

"If you can hack the security from here why can't you hijack control over the entire base?" Steve asked with one yellow eyebrow raised. 

"Short answer; this is a simple virus that isn't hard to insert. Full hijacking requires a link with more bandwidth and one that's harder to disrupt. That's what the box Clint's carrying is for."

Steve nodded. "Oh. Couldn't you have told me?" 

Tony just kept his face fixed on his forearm console. "Virus uploaded. Fun times, very cool, now we just wait for Clint and hope he doesn't get spotted."

"He won't be," Logan replied with conviction.

A few minutes later, the console on Tony's arm beeped. Behind the faceplate, he smirked as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "Okay, Cap," Iron Man said, "this is where you come in."

Steve nodded as his eyes narrowed. He stared at the camp and remembered the lash digging into his flesh, the repeated kicks to his gut, the desperate struggles for air.. his grip tightened around the handle of his shield.  
"Alright," he began as steel crept into his voice. "Thor, Iron Man, you need to be our heavy hitters and neutralize their defenses. Iron Man, airdrop both Logan and I about half a mile outside their perimeter. We'll come in on foot after you and Thor have weakened them. When we re-establish communications with Hawkeye, he'll join Logan and I in locating the override keys for the detention facility."

"The virus can crack it, Steve," Iron Man interrupted casually. "In seven hours or so," the armored form added.

"The faster the better, Iron Man, and seven hours isn't fast enough. Logan, Hawkeye and I will search for the keyholders; Doctor Yusuf Marcus, Commandant Anabelle Renton, and Master Sergeant Jacob Cameron. You and Thor provide the distraction."

Iron Man looked over at Thor and grinned behind the faceplate. "So big guy, ready to put on a show?"

Thor's mouth grinned almost gleefully even if his eyes remained hard and resolute. "Always, shield brother. Let them fear our wrath!"

"Alright, men. Let's do this," Steve said.

 **Part 32**  
Thick, dark stormclouds filled the sky above the camp; brilliant flashes of lightning arced through the firmament as the steady rumble of thunder grew louder. The wind whipped around Thor's body as his crushing grip on Mjolnir only grew tighter. The desert sands streaked beneath him as his eyes focused on the walls of the resoc camp. His blood boiled as he thought of all those imprisoned Midgardians, _today you shall taste freedom and your oppressors taste vengeance_. 

Thor swooped through the skies as he finally reached the camp itself; bullets rushed past him as jagged thunderbolts crashed down from the sky. Guards dodged to avoid the white-hot arcs of static as stationary guns exploded in showers of sparks and debris. The blood raced through the Asgardian's veins, fueled by adrenaline and rage. Lightning streamed forth from Mjolnir's head and sliced into the grounds of the facility.

Suddenly, a bullet crashed into Thor's abdomen but it failed to puncture his Asgardian skin; the pain only made him furrow his brow more intensely as Mjolnir's fury continued to pour from the sky. Booming thunder roared through the air, sounding almost like a live animal as he willed more lightning to the ground.

 

Iron Man swooped low to the ground; Steve and Logan jumped off his back and landed on the dusty surface. Immediately the inventor smirked into his HUD.  
"Punch it, JARVIS."  
"Yes Sir."

Suddenly, the repulsors flared and Iron Man blasted across the desert; a plume of sand and dirt trailed behind him as the downpour of Thor's thunderbolts became closer.  
"Lightning charge-transfer activated, Sir," JARVIS said.  
 _So his strength really is as much mine as it is his. Huh_ , Tony thought as he rose higher and traveled over the camp's walls. Bullets raked across his suit, but inside he only heard a soft plink from each one. His flight path circled around the aloft Asgardian.

"Iron Man!" Thor bellowed; _glad I built automatic volume adjustment into the comm system_ Tony thought as he stabilized alongside the red-blond.

Instantly they both flew away from each other as a hailstorm of turret fire erupted around them; Thor flew upwards while Tony swooped around in a distorted spiral.  
"Structural Integrity at 92%, Sir," JARVIS intoned.  
"Ready, big guy?" Tony asked.

Thor merely nodded at him as angry streaks of lightning continued to tear through the sky. 

Instantly the two heroes swooped downward, curving and zig-zagging to confuse the turrets' targeting. Jagged forks of light plunged like knives into stationary guns; bright lines of repulsor fire sliced through metal as if it were nothing. 

"We can't get a lock!" yelled the NL operative inside the CIC. His voice could barely be heard over the blare of klaxons and hurried sound of orders being issued. He could feel sweat gather beneath his collar. "Turret integrity dropping!"  
"Switch to manual targeting, boy!" his commander barked back. He immediately obeyed.

One stationary gun broke apart under the sustained lightning barrage unleashed by Mjolnir; the weapon seemed to simply disintegrate as if all the bolts holding it together vanished. A second gun's barrel melted into sludge as the repulsor fire heated the metal to a jelly-like state. 

Sweat dripped from Thor's brow as white-hot flashes seemed to orbit around Mjolnir. The second last stationary gun trained towards him and he grit his teeth. He thought of below; all those imprisoned to be brainwashed or killed for the crime of not wanting to grovel, not wanting to be subjugated, not letting themselves be ruled...

The stationary gun fired at the Asgardian.

With a massive roar of rage, Thor swung the hammer's head towards the turret and released a torrent of white-hot, sky-searing electricity. The bullets were caught in the stream and turned instantly to vapor; the gun itself split apart in an explosive crack. 

Tony's HUD turned red as the reticule encircled the final turret. He swerved quickly as the white-orange flashes of tracer bullets rushed at him. The harsh sound of metal scouring metal scraped at his ears.  
"Hull Integrity 86%," JARVIS stated.  
Tony grumbled. "I don't have time for this. JARVIS, engage Unibeam!"

Tony swung his chest towards the gun as a column of light blasted forth from his armor. The bluish-tinged energy slammed into the turret like an avalanche and tore it apart as if it were tissue paper.  
 _Okay, now just the goons on the ground left_ he quickly thought as he activated the comm system,  
"Hey Cap, Logan, all turrets are down. Coming to join the party?"

Logan's boots thudded on the ground as he ran towards the concrete wall. The flashes of light from Thor's storm glinted across the metal of his claws. He felt sweat begin to bead on his skin as his mind began to lose clarity; muscle memory, instinct and sheer drives began to leak into his thoughts. He could smell the blood lying beneath the skin of the guards.

Steve dashed over the rocky, dusty surface and fixed his eyes towards the top of the wall; _assault rifles, three guards. Glad for the bulletproof plates_ he thought as he readied his shield. He drew his arm back and flung the metal disc upward; it smashed into one guard with a resounding clang. The other two guards looked at him and immediately raised their rifles. Bullets raked into the ground beside him as he jumped into the air to catch his shield; as he grabbed the vibranium armament he heard bullets begin to slam into it and ricochet off. He crouched beneath the cover it provided and cast his eyes toward the wall again.

The Wolverine's claws sank into the reinforced concrete walls with a crunch. The Canadian dragged himself upwards as bullets pierced his skin but had no effect beyond enraging him further. As he climbed onto the top of the wall he immediately lunged for the nearest guard and plunged his adamantium talons deep into the black-clad grunt's heart.  
"Yer lucky I'm makin' this quick," the stocky brawler hissed into the ear of the guard as the body beneath him twitched and shook.

Immediately, the feral began rampaging across the walkway; his claws sliced through every single guard in his way. Blood spattered across his jacket and lay like scattered scarlet ribbons on the concrete. Bodies fell in his wake as the mutant got closer and closer to the gate control panel.

The Captain instantly dashed as he saw the heavy steel plates of the main entrance begin to swing open. He slipped through the expanding gap, shield held aloft against incoming fire. He felt the ground tremor as Logan dropped down from the wall-top walkway and landed beside him.  
"Iron Man, Thor, we're in," Steve spoke into the comm, "rendezvous outside Admin."

As the tall blond and short black-haired man ran across the yard, stray guards fell from repulsor fire and lightning blasts. All the remaining that didn't flee were knocked aside by the Captain's shield; Logan's claws had been retracted and the Canadian reverted to using fists. 

Iron Man and Thor descended to the ground just in front of the iron-gray Administration building; the structure was surrounded in a lace-like labyrinth of razor wire that only left a single path to the entrance. The door was ajar.

The door moved. Immediately, Iron Man raised a hand toward it, Steve's arm swung backward, Thor raised Mjolnir, and Logan crouched in preparation for a lunge. 

A black-clad NL guard stumbled out of the door unevenly; two arrows were embedded in his chest. The guard's disoriented motions looked as if they were taking place underwater. A second later the operative collapsed. 

Clint emerged from the door, bow in hand and a smirk on his face; his forehead appeared devoid of sweat.  
"Great show, guys," he began, "most of the goons were too busy out here to be a problem for me." He then turned to Steve; "priority targets followed attack protocol though. Commandant Renton's holed up in here," he pointed back over his shoulder at the Admin complex, "Doctor Marcus is somewhere in the Medical facility, and Sergeant Cameron's in the armory."

The Captain nodded, "good work Hawkeye. Next move is to get the keys."

"Dibs on Renton," Clint immediately responded. "I cleaned out Admin already so I'll be the fastest."

"And I'll have a chat with Doc Marcus," the Canadian snarled from behind Steve.

The Captain nodded. "Deal with them how you deem appropriate," he said in a quieter than usual voice, guessing precisely how Hawkeye and Wolverine would choose to deal with their targets. "I'll retrieve Cameron's key. We'll rendezvous outside Detention block ASAP. Iron Man, Thor," he turned his head towards the inventor and the Asgardian, "keep control of the camp until we have the keys. See you all soon."

"Gotcha," Tony replied as he took to the skies again. Thor spun Mjolnir before following his armored ally upward. 

Logan already began stalking towards Medical when the Captain turned back to his fellow ground-dwellers. Clint turned and casually strode back to Admin; Steve cast his eyes towards the Armory.  
 _Not much longer, soldier_ , he thought to himself. _At least you didn't have to go back to the training grounds_.

 **Part 33**  
The antiseptic, metallic smell in the air had the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Logan's boots thudded against the cold steel floor of the Medlab and echoed against the walls. His eyes moved over the array of tools; gurneys, tables, microscopes, scalpels, speculums, restraints...

 _Don't think about it_ , he willed himself as he felt the temperature of the surrounding air drop. He remembered the slightly sticky wetness on his skin as the tank filled with fluid. He ground his teeth together and smelled the air; _this way_ he thought as he picked up a scent of nervous sweat and hand sanitizer. His gait became more hunched-over as the scent grew thicker in his nostrils; pain flared between his knuckles as he extended his claws.

The voice in his head thrashed, howled and roared with saliva dripping from its fangs; a slick of blood and sweat coated its body and its claws flailed wildly... _no.. that's tha Wolverine, not Logan..._ The Canadian's eyes peered down the corridor towards a heavy steel door. The scent got stronger with each step he took. 

The short man reached the heavy door; beside him sat a recessed plate of clear perspex-like material. Behind that recessed plate stood a man with dark, oily brown hair, yellowed teeth, and cold gray eyes.  
"Doctor Marcus, I presume?" Logan snarled through a clenched jaw.

"Indeed, Weapon X," the Doctor replied in an eloquently-toned rasp. "The minute we spotted you on the cameras, they made sure I received the files... you're an impressive specimen, Logan."

An angry, low growl welled up from the Canadian's lungs. "I'm no lab specimen, bub. But I bet yer fuckin' salivatin' over tha thought of havin' me as one..."

"Of course," the Doctor replied as he smirked. "We know why a submissive would resent their place, but for one blessed with such a superior nature, one destined to be an alpha wolf, to turn his back on his station in life, that is a true mystery."

"Ya wanna mystery?" Logan replied as he pressed the tip of his claws against the perspex plate, "how about 'where's tha Detention key?'"

Immediately, the Doctor held up what looked like a rectangle of glass with circuitry traced on one side; it was no larger than a matchbox. Doctor Marcus then placed it in his mouth and swallowed it.

Logan's teeth ground together as he heard the Doctor chuckle;  
"see, Weapon X? I just defied your will, and it frustrated you! Doesn't that prove my point? We're the New Wolf, Logan, and you are destined to be an alpha."

The Doctor's eyes went wide as he saw the feral's claws rip through the thick perspex like it were nothing; he writhed as he felt the Canadian's rough hand clenching around his throat. At the sensation of the cold metal of the claws touching his cheek, he went still.

"Ya still don't get it, do ya Doc?" Logan hissed furiously as he kept his grip firm. "Ya call me a wolf," he continued as his voice dropped to a low gravel and he carefully pronounced each word, "but I am not an animal." He tightened his grip around the Doctor's neck; his fingers dug into the flesh of the other man.

Marcus could only laugh as he felt the constriction increase; his lungs burned for air but even so he didn't struggle; _it is only a matter of time before he sees the truth!_ He wheezed and gurgled as his field of vision shrank and became hazy, but his faith never waned.

 

Logan could've made it easier.

He could've stabbed the unconscious man in the head before slicing the stomach open to retrieve the key.

But the feral remembered how it was the Wolverine that sprang forth from the tank, the Wolverine that sliced the project director to shreds, the Wolverine that butchered the Weapon X guards; _Logan didn't get his payback. Tha Wolverine took it away from him. So tha scales ain't balanced_.

A quick viewing of the files of Dr. Marcus' "Examinations" made it perfectly clear to Logan that the Doctor was more than deserving of serving as a substitute; video files showed men, women, children, gagged and hooded and being subjected to "treatments" that made the feral feel nauseous. _Just because they didn't wanna play tha dom-sub game, didn't wanna act like pack animals, they ended up strapped ta Marcus' table..._

When Marcus woke up strapped to his own operating table, his eyes went wide in fear. As he witnessed the icy sheen of fluorescent light against adamantium blades, he felt cold sweat begin to bead on his skin. When Logan tore his shirt off and he realized what Logan planned on doing, his heart began to pound and soft whimpers began to leak from his lips. Those whimpers became cries as he felt a white-hot line of agony begin at his sternum and trace downward; blood gushed upward from beneath his flesh. It wasn't long before he blacked out from the pain.

A short time later, Logan held the key under the running faucet in the medlab. He slid it into his pocket before walking out of the facility and towards the Detention block.

 **Part 34**  
Hawkeye moved down the Admin corridor with an arrow already nocked, just in case. The occasional guard lay dead on the floor, often with several arrows sticking out of their body. His footsteps could barely be heard over the sound of buzzing fluorescent lights and the ominous, distant rumble of thunder.

 _Renton's gonna be in her saferoom_ , Barton thought as he crept towards the door at the end of the hallway. He remembered when Natasha dragged him to a room at the end of a hallway. He shuddered. _This time, it isn't me that's gonna be in a lot of pain though_ , he recited in his head as his grip on the bow tightened. 

In one fluid motion, his boot crashed against the door of Renton's office and he stepped into the darkened room; _desk, filing cabinets, door to saferoom. Nothing unexpected_. He immediately spoke into his comm;  
"Hey Iron Man, need some help with Renton's saferoom. Can you override the lockdown?"

"Well duh," Iron Man responded sounding almost offended. "Decryption should only take a minute or two."  
"Thanks Shellhead," Clint replied casually as he kept his gaze fixed on the heavy steel slab ahead. 

When the door opened, the archer bore witness to the coal-black gaze of Commandant Anabelle Renton. 

Renton's slender form was wrapped in a black NL bodysuit. The near-lunar pallor of her face was the only bare skin on her body. Her dark brown hair sat in a bun atop her head. She stared at Clint intently, not even flinching at the drawn arrow. 

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that 'intimidating imperious dom stare' is gonna work on someone that took out most of your guards."

"We'll do this the hard way then," Renton replied in a steely voice. Immediately she jumped into the air, vaulted over the desk and twisted into a kick that knocked Clint's bow over to the other side of the office.

 _Fuck!_ Clint thought as he back-flipped out of Renton's range and reached for the knife he kept in his boot. His fingers nearly dug into the blade's handle as he scanned the woman intently; _short, limber, shit she's like 'Tash with a dye job. Thank fuck for all the acrobatics I did as a kid_. He slid beneath her whirling limbs as she kept moving forward.

Renton jumped back onto the desktop before drawing her pistol. She aimed it right at the spiky blond head with nothing but cold indifference. 

Clint quickly dived and rolled as he heard a gunshot ring out and felt a streak of pain slash through the side of his arm. He grit his teeth at the familiar warm stickiness of blood as he lunged towards the desk and collided with Renton's legs.

He had her pinned to the ground; the archer's knife rose from Renton's thigh. The woman's breathing grew harsh as she thrashed around but the gun had been dropped and fallen on the other side of the desk. Immediately, he reached back into his quiver, pulled out a stun arrow, and slammed the electrified arrowhead into her chest.

 

When the Commandant woke up, she felt a ball-gag between her teeth and manacles around her wrists and ankles. The knife had been removed from her thigh but the blade's deep piercing burn remained. Her back was against the wall; in front of her, sitting on the desk, was the insolently-grinning face of Clint Barton. The bullet-graze on his bicep had already been bandaged.

"If I will give NL credit for anything," he began, "it's that they keep restraints in almost every filing cabinet. Y'know, just if some bratty sub needs to be punished." _And now, it's payback time!_ Barton stood up as his eyes narrowed; he closed in on Commandant Renton and raised his gloved fingertips to her jawline. His grin became downright cruel as his voice dropped to a rasp.  
"I haven't had good experiences with women like you. So I'd tell you not to take this personally, but hey, your choice."

 _He wouldn't dare!_ Renton thought as outrage raced through her psyche and painted itself across her face. She wished she could bite the man's fingers off and hear his screams.

Clint just laughed. "Don't get your hopes up, Anabelle," he said as he took a few steps backwards and readied his bow, "one thing that elevates us above you NL types is we only fuck people we like." 

The Commandant's eyebrows rose as she watched the archer withdraw a broadhead from the quiver and nock it. 

Hawkeye fired the first arrow into her left kneecap, and the second into her right. He made sure to aim for the spots where the most bone would be shattered. He couldn't deny the thrill that raced through him as he heard the woman's muffled yells of pain; _so my revenge is being served hot. Awesome!_

Renton's ragged gasps became faster as she saw Barton draw a third and fourth arrow; he lay the fourth arrow on the desk as he nocked the third. "Nah, I'm not gonna make this any quicker," she heard him say flippantly as she braced herself for even more pain.

The third arrow went into her left shoulder. The fourth into her right. She cried out as her jaw clamped around the rubber ball. Against every single ounce of her will, tears crept into the dominant's eyes and spilled down her cheek. The feelings of defeat and degradation which she had inflicted on so many of her lessers began to burrow into her consciousness. She closed her eyes in acceptance.  
"Want some mercy?" she heard him say. She opened her eyes.

Instantly, Clint released the nocked fifth arrow. The sharp tip burrowed right through the Commandant's left pupil and deep into her brain. The pale-skinned corpse slumped forward as eyeball jelly slowly slithered down the arrow's shaft.

The archer smirked as he slung his bow back over his shoulder. He moved forward and began searching the Commandant's pockets and pouches. In a few seconds he felt the hard, circuitry-etched plastic of the key.  
"Hey guys, the bitch is down," he said into his comm. "See you at D-block."

 **Part 35**  
Gray cement walls lined with weapons and topped with protective plexiglass stretched into the distance; Steve focused his eyes. His fist tightened around the handle of his shield as the sound of his footfalls reverberated around the room. The cold air brushed against the back of his neck. The hairs stood on end when he heard the voice.

"So the pretty boy soldier is back," Master Sergeant Jacob Cameron rasped corrosively. 

Steve silently gulped before turning to face the man... the same iron-gray-haired man that lashed his back repeatedly. The same man that demanded he prostrate himself and taste bootleather out of self-debasement. The man with a spirit no different to that of every single bully that ground his scrawny past self's face into the concrete of countless Brooklyn alleyways.

Steve gritted his teeth and glared defiantly into Cameron's green eyes. _I don't back down from bullies_ he thought as he felt his pulse quicken and grip grow sore from the force of the clench around the shield's handle. He assessed the other man's threat level; _he's carrying no visible firearms, strong build, clearly trained._ The blond immediately assumed a fighting stance.  
"I'll give you one chance, Cameron," Rogers said clearly, "hand over the key and stay out of our way."

The Sergeant just leered. "Couldn't stay away, could you? You need control, punk... no matter how much you think you don't, you crave it. That's what brought you back to me... you recognize your superior even if you can't admit it." Cameron held his head high and sneered disdainfully as he looked at Steve; his right index finger pointed down towards his boots. "Wanna avoid more lashes? Then start being a good soldier. On your knees, Rogers, down where you belong."

Steve charged and leapt forward; his shield crashed into Jacob's shoulder. Both men fell onto the floor in a tangle of limbs; Steve grabbed onto Cameron's waist and tried to hold him down.

Cameron struggled and squirmed out of his grip and kicked upwards. His booted foot caught Steve's jaw; he smirked viciously as he saw the Super Soldier's head snap back.

Steve's world spun and before he knew it he could feel Cameron's arms around his neck and jaw; his throat grew tight as the squeeze grew tighter. The weight of the man on his back and the sudden reduction in air supply...  
 _the thick plastic wrap over his head couldn't be punctured with his tongue, his heart thundered in panic and he remembered all those times when each breath hurt and his lungs felt like they were wrapped in chains..._

"So that's what works..." Cameron suddenly grunted, "huh pretty boy? I saw your files... asthmatic when you were a scrawny little thing. Maybe that's the way to keep you in line," the Master Sergeant's snarl then suddenly became a cry as he felt Steve's teeth sink into his arm.

Steve shook the gray-haired man off his back and rolled away. He gasped before leaping back onto his feet and glaring coldly at the Dominant. "That never kept me down back then. There's no way in hell it'll keep me down now!" he bellowed defiantly before charging again, smashing his shield into Cameron's shoulder a second time. As the two men flew across the room, Steve's free hand reached around his tormentor's torso and grabbed a familiar-feeling sturdy metal object. _No visible firearms... but he'd have a concealed one_.

 

Cameron panted frantically as he stared up at the barrel of the gun; _no... it can't be_ he thought as he felt some foreign sensation creep into his psyche. The ache in his torso from the blond man's attacks somehow seemed to merge with this new emotion. His eyes grew wider as he began to recognize it.

 _I've been bested. Conquered. Put in my place._ The feeling sat like a lump of lead in his stomach; he took a slow and shaky breath as the implications became clear. He looked away from the gun barrel and towards Steve's sweat-glazed face.  
"Please... please Sir," he began in a near-whimper. "I'm sorry... I was insolent to you, I deserve to be punished Sir... but please don't kill me..." He immediately raised his hands above his head and got onto his knees; he ignored the soreness of his muscles.

Steve remembered the fiery slashes across his back that Cameron's bullwhip delivered. He recalled the stickiness of the drying blood on his skin. He remembered his panicked gasps as the thick plastic covered his nose and mouth. He cocked the firearm and pointed it at the Master Sergeant's head.

Cameron immediately lay on his stomach and crawled forward; "please, please Sir," he pleaded as he looked up with wide and begging eyes. "I belong beneath your boots, Sir... I'm sorry Sir..."

Steve watched silently as he saw the same man that whipped him bloody crawl toward his booted feet. He watched Jacob Cameron's lips surround the toe of the boot and kiss a trail up the shaft. He witnessed the man staring up at him, wishing for his approval, desperate to please him. 

He heard more whimpers come from the man at his boots; at that moment Steve Rogers felt nauseous with pity. _He doesn't belong beneath my boots_ , he thought disgustedly, _he doesn't deserve that privilege... no pride, no dignity, now he's just living to serve... shooting him would be mercy_. Captain Rogers had never felt more turned off in his entire life. The pressure of Cameron's tongue against the leather of his boot only made Steve feel insulted. He took a step backward.

Cameron looked up again with a moist, perplexed gaze. His heart pounded in fear of the weapon pointed at his face, fear of not pleasing his master, fear of failing to accept his place... he bowed his head.  
"Please Sir... don't kill me. Have mercy."

The nausea rolled in his stomach as his index finger tightened around the trigger. _Pity... mercy..._ he remembered the words from his childhood church, _things reserved for the lowest of the low.. for the worthless_.

Immediately the Captain swung his shield into Cameron's face. The loud clang reverberated off the walls and the Master Sergeant's body lay still in a crumpled heap. _Out cold_ he thought as he threw the other man's weapon to the other side of the room. The viscous blend of disdain and disgust in his mind only grew thicker; _he's not even worthy of a bullet_. At that moment he wished he'd never have to feel this monstrous level of contempt for another human being ever again.

He shoved the feelings out of the way, knelt beside the unconscious man and began searching the pockets. 

The etched clear card felt heavy in his palm; his free hand tapped the comm. "This is Rogers. I've acquired Cameron's key." He took a slower than usual breath before continuing; "we'll rendezvous as planned, then free the prisoners."

He took one last look at Cameron's body. He detected no motion beyond breathing. He quickly turned away and left the armory.  
 _Mission accomplished... you've done it. Won the battle. Now, the war_.

 

 **Epilogue**  
The manifesto reached the email of every single news organization on earth. JARVIS promised that the email would be untraceable.

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_I write this as a statement of intent and principles._

_When I was a young child growing up in Brooklyn, I had many encounters with a certain kind of person. This kind of person frequently spat on me, beat me until I was covered in bruises, and took the time to remind me they considered me pathetic scum. This kind of person considered themselves a naturally superior creature, destined to command and entitled to receive the obedience of others._

_One particular person of this kind ended up commanding the war machine known as Nazi Germany. He posited that this "natural superiority" existed within the bloodline and collective spirit of a specific race; a race destined to rule their inferiors. In the process of implementing his beliefs, his war machine murdered tens of millions._

_The kind of person I speak of should be called by their proper title: the bully._

_But today, we call them the Dominant. And we do not consider them a menace to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; rather, we lionize them as the great, the superior, the natural rulers, the Alphas. And we teach their victims not to rebel against their tormentors, but rather to accept a subordinate role to them; we preach not pride and worthiness but rather bullyhood and victimhood._

_I enlisted because I hate bullies. I would have rather died than live in a world ruled by bullies. I would not accept victimhood as my station in life. A cruel irony it was to be defrosted, to find everything I fought for had been destroyed, to find my worst nightmare had become reality._

_Indeed, we now live in a time where fighting back against bullies marks oneself out as a "bratty" or "punk" submissive that "secretly desires to be broken." The same character trait that made me worthy of the Super Soldier Serum is the same character trait that, according to this society's disgraceful philosophy, makes my colleague and ally Clint Barton worthy of degradation, humiliation and subjugation._

_This philosophy, the "Novus Lupus" ideology, has so far murdered in excess of twenty-three million people, forced countless millions into relationships without their consent, demanded that these countless millions relate in such a way that may bear no relationship to their actual preferences, and has necessitated the creation of a totalitarian State more intrusive than Hitler's._

_The Novus Lupus ideology claims to correctly grasp human nature. I disagree._

_The ideology begins by debasing all mankind; by claiming we are no different from any other animal and thus we should act like animals. It continues by rejecting every achievement of the Enlightenment; the rule of law, individual rights, and human equality. It concludes by endorsing a social arrangement so deeply evil that people are thrown in concentration camps for having the wrong preferences in bed._

_I write this to avenge not only the millions murdered and brutalized, but the principles of the Enlightenment which Novus Lupus has attacked; the principles of the Declaration of Independence._

_All human beings have an inalienable right to their life, their liberty, and the pursuit of their own happiness. They don't need to serve the happiness of any King, or any God, or any Dominant, in order to justify their existence. It is a consequence of the equal freedom principle that no person has the right to demand that others live for their happiness. Just as no one has a duty to serve, no one has a right to rule._

_Nature did not create some to serve and some to rule; we are supposed to live as independent equals. Neither I nor my allies will rest until the lands currently known as the Ordered States of North America are governed by that principle._

_"America," in the sense of the United States of America, was destroyed by the Novus Lupus Movement. But the principles of the Declaration of Independence cannot be destroyed; ideas are bulletproof. It is those ideas I am loyal to; the crowning achievements of 1776._

_And it is to those ideas that, alongside my allies, my fellow Avengers, I pledge my life, my skills, and my sacred honor._

_Capt. Steven Rogers  
Captain '76_

**The End**


End file.
